The Mute: Entrapment
by Ninjer-8492
Summary: An old enemy from his Sith Master's past traps him an Darth Kitsun on an out of the way colony. The pair must work together in order to survive
1. Dinner at a Darth's

Planet Ojos, Evening.

Darth Kitsun strode into the spherical white chamber, clad in her usual attire of a long, black dress that loosely clung to her lithe figure. Her face as usual, was obscured by a mask, its upper half skull like and set with a small jewel in the forehead, the lower half like a veil. She clutched her glossy black cane , the top part sphere light and concealing a light saber emitter.

"Mute," she called out simply, her voice heavily disguised by a synthesizer as she addressed her apprentice.

The man at the center was tall with beige skin that had paled slightly in recent weeks due to lack of sun. His dark hair had been a recently given a buzz cut. His strong, square jaw worked as he stirred from his meditation. His dark, bloodstained wool blindfold was, as usual, wrapped around his head. A black scorched hole was set in it between his eyes.

To this day, Kitsun wondered why her permanently silent student hung onto that old thing. It had been from an attempt to execute him. Her only theory so far was that he needed it to remind himself of how close he had come to meeting his maker.

That or it fulfilled the function of a security blanket. Kitsun certainly wasn't going to ask. She respected his privacy.

The man-known to friends and enemies as "The Mute" stood up. He bowed respectfully, his own cane gripped tightly in his hand, seemingly made of wood, with a metal-t-shaped handle that split down the middle when needed to emit the violet blade the hidden emitter would produce. the bottom was covered with a small brass tip. He hadn't made it himself, but it had grown on him ever since Kitsun supplied him with it.

"Something special is happening today: We are going to a dinner party. The Sith Overlord himself will be there, as will a substantial portion of the military cabinet. Foxe will help you become presentable. You'll also have to forsake your usual weapon in favor of a more...ceremonial type," Kitsun explained, gesturing for the blind man to follow her.

The Mute followed, clad in his usual choice of clothing: a simple pair of black slacks and boots and a dark, maroon colored t-shirt.

"I think Overlord Vizkous is using the party as a pretext for something. He doesn't usually do something like this unless he wants something from one of us," Kitsun continued. "I don't need to remind you about how your conduct in public affects me also."

The Mute bowed. He knew the drill. Still, he was irked about having to leave his weapon behind: Despite it's obvious age and the fact that it had clearly gotten a great amount of use, the blind man had never used a finer one. It was irreplaceable.

"Good," Kitsun said approvingly. "I expect you ready in two hours. And though it is a dinner party I must warn you not to let your guard down. Everybody there is an enemy to one another."

Kitsun departed the training chamber. The Mute following dutifully behind.

"These will do you perfectly," Foxe spoke happily as she stared at her handiwork getting the Mute ready. Foxe was dressed in her usual sheer beige dancer's slacks and simple strapless top, her caramel skin flawless in the light of the Mute's private quarters. She ran a hand through her floppy, chocolate brown hair that stopped at the ears, her heart shaped face and lips stretching a broad smile as her bewitching dull green eyes admired her success.

The Mute was a simple man by nature, and not prone to displays of vanity, having spent most of his life as a nomad. He was easy to dress, and Foxe had chosen a simple black robe set with with grey trims, a dantooine style set of robes to be precise, with a short, tight fitting upper robe, his wool blindfold having been replaced with a grey sash that now covered his eyes. A man on the street might have mistaken him for a Miralukan.

The Mute nodded. As far as he could remember, he had never been to a dinner party. His life had never been one of luxury. It was an entirely new experience.

The man remembered his mentor's admonishment to be alert for danger. Somehow, he didn't even need the Force to know that both his and Kitsun's continual headache, Darth Ino, would be there tonight.

He started to grin as he remembered the last prank Kitsun had played on the Sith Lord.

Foxe noted the smile. "What's up?" she asked.

The Mute shrugged, having no desire to spend the next twenty minutes playing charades for Foxe to work out what he was thinking. He was smiling. It was enough.

Foxe watched as the silent would-be Sith sat on his queen sized bed. It was days like this that he seriously reconsidered running away. The bed alone was worth the stay, after a lifetime of sleeping on secondhand or in the street.

But then he remembered. Staying meant he would eventually have to kill his mentor, in accordance with Sith tradition.

The Mute mentally snorted in disgust. The whole concept was barbaric. His mentor might not feel the same way, but that wasn't going to stop him from calling it like he saw it.

He respected Kitsun too much to do something so heinous. Fleeing was his only option to keep both of them alive.

The Mute decided to refocus his attention on something decidedly more pleasant. He reached for the simple guitar Kitsun had allowed him so that he might not go stir crazy when he wasn't training.

He handed the black bodied instrument to Foxe. Her type of playing was always happier than his.

Foxe plopped on the black beanbag cushion and plucked away steadily as the Mute reclined, listening.

Foxe looked around the dull, maroon colored room. The Mute lived sparsely, and never had more than he could take with him. She had watched with fascination over the months as he had steadily put together a small duffle bag full of survival equipment cobbled together from whatever parts he could snatch or buy on the limited stipend he was afforded, with two changes of clothes, rations he had purchased from a military surplus store and a small blaster carbine and pistol, along with a small one handed back-up light saber and a hunting knife. It was typical soldier behavior. The weapons had been neatly fastened to the sides of the bag with straps he had added, with a larger, main strap to be slung around his shoulder when he needed to move.

"Panic supplies?" she finally asked.

The Mute nodded. It wasn't exactly a lie for him. He needed resources, limited as they were, for when he eventually left Kitsun. Until then he could pass it off as simply thinking ahead.

Foxe shrugged and continued to lazily strum the guitar. The Mute simply listened. This was their usual routine.

He sighed. He knew he shouldn't be getting attached to her. Foxe was ultimately Kitsun's servant, and obeyed unswervingly. And there was no telling the kind of danger he could put Foxe in if Kitsun discovered how he was starting to feel. Kitsun, as tough but fair as she was, was still a Sith at the end of the day, and though he respected her, he would have been a fool to forget how cunning she could be.

Still...part of him was toying with the idea of taking Foxe with him. He wasn't sure how to convince her-another way Kitsun stood out in comparison to her peers was a notable lack of cruelty to underlings. He'd never seen Foxe bearing signs of mistreatment, and by this point he would have been rather surprised by his master changing that policy.

But the problem with Foxe could wait. For now, he was content with both of their situations.

Vizkous Estate, Ojos. Evening.

"Hows your weapon?" Kitsun asked as the stretch speeder powered through the skies of the verdant city planet Ojos just as the sun had finally set. She was wearing a dark blue version of her usual attire.

The Mute examined his replacement. The hilt was small, silvery and built for one hand, with a brass colored defensive cup covering the t-shaped electrum cross guard. The emitter was a narrow, bottle necked profile.

He had selected the light foil right out of Kitsun's private arsenal, it having been a secondary weapon he had familiarized himself with under Kitsun's tutelage. After months of practice he had started to like light foil fighting almost as much as his primary method.

"Good. At least I've managed to knock some measure of culture into you," Kitsun noted. "Now remember, student, do as I do. Do not show any weakness. Those animals in there will smell it a kilometer away."

The Mute nodded, once again noting how his master seemed to make a distinction between herself and her "peers".

She need not have worried. He had learned a long time ago never to show any sort of weakness to people like that. Hell, it was probably the only reason he had successfully defeated many of them, with the infamous Dark Jedi known as the Hyena being one of the few exceptions.

The Mute refocused on the task at hand. The last thing he needed to be reminded of was his defeat at the hands of that sociopath.

The stretch speeder stopped and set down on the landing pad of the black mansion that rested on a hill far from the clutter of the city. The mansion roof was supported by white columns on the outside, while a dome on the top glowed gently with a ruddy red light. The path way leading to it was lined by a garden of black roses-The Sith Overlord was said to be an expert cultivator of that particular strain. The mansion bore a circular design scheme and a nearby Sith Priory-a simple hollowed out obelisk made of white brick with a bell at the top reached out above the Corellian Pine forest.

The Mute noticed other speeders in the distance by virtue of his Force sight. Kitsun signaled for him to follow up the path with her and he did so, keeping close by at all times. Darth Ino had sent assassins after them both several times in the past few months. Nobody really talented-Ino was simply probing for weakness, using saber fodder to learn from every attempt. Kitsun had retaliated by killing several of his allies with vehicle bombs. The Mute knew this because he was the one who had set the bombs up. He still chuckled occasionally whenever he remembered how Kitsun had rigged the last bomb to send out fireworks upon detonation. Nobody could say the Sith Lady didn't have a sense of humor.

The pair strode up to the front porce, where a Krath soldier in a purple set of armor stood at the ready, a simple helmet with tinted faceplate concealing his features.

"Go on in, Lady Kitsun. Vizkous is expecting you," the soldier said in a gruff tone.

Kitsun nodded and the pair walked into a lavish chamber packed with paintings and statues from every corner of the galaxy lining the walls. The Mute snorted at this. Typical wastefulness of the rich, as far as he was concerned. All those credits and nothing useful getting done.

"Gaudy, isn't it?" Kitsun said quietly to him as they walked across the marble tiles to join the other guests. "Vizkous always did like the expensive stuff. Don't get me wrong, I'm a sucker for a good painting but this is overkill. Make note of it. It will let you know just what kind of person you're dealing with. The materialistic are always those who are easiest to manipulate. Never forget that."

The Mute nodded. Kitsun always liked to throw in occasional little nuggets of wisdom like that.

The pair stopped when they spotted a man in polished black armor with a small feathered crest atop his angular, beak-like helmet, a simple tinted visor allowing vision. The lower half of the plate armor was lined with four large, wide strips of fabric that surrounded his legs and went down to his ankles, His light saber hilt was of a one-handed design with a textured steel grip, the emitter of the weapon a flat slot with a t-shape wire cross guard inset with orange diamonds on the ends. The Mute also made note of a device on the Sith's right fore-arm that he had never seen before, bearing the appearance of a miniature solar panel, polished to a mirror sheen. There were other Sith of course, all unique, but the armored one was definitely an eye catcher.

"Darth Victus!" Kitsun spoke as merrily as her synthesizer would allow. "Fancy running into you here. You usually find an excuse to be on the battle field. What could Vizkous have possibly tempted you with?"

"I'm...not really here for me, Lady Kitsun," Victus answered, his masculine voice somber in nature. "Vizkous seems to have it in his head that he's got an irresistible offer. Since the higher ups usually don't bother with me, I decided to show up and see what it was all about." Victus stared at the Mute. "Your student, I presume?"

"Yes. Student, this is Darth Victus. He's a marauder, sworn to destroy the Jedi Order at any cost."

"You look like you've seen a few battles. Have you tasted Jedi blood yet, boy?" Victus asked.

The Mute nodded. It had been many years ago in self defense, however.

"Good. Don't get cocky though. A Jedi Knight is always a genuinely dangerous opponent," Victus admonished. "No matter what certain 'cheerleaders' among the Sith might say, they always conveniently forget how the Sith have been beaten before. We do not have history on our side."

The Mute raised an eyebrow, unable to hold back his surprise that a Marauder could bring himself to admit such a fact.

"You think my position strange, do you?" Victus asked, leaning closer. "I used to be one of the Jedi Knights. Before they started to get...ugly. Make no mistake boy, unless something changes, and soon, Exar 'I'm too good to use a proper Sith Title' Kun is going to lose this war."

"And you wonder why the higher ups usually don't bother you," Kitsun joked. "By the way, has Ino showed up yet?"

"The weakling hasn't arrived yet, but I can hardly imagine that he will pass up the opportunity to get into his direct superior's good graces," Victus answered. "He's pathetically predictable that way."

"You have any idea why Vizkous arranged all of this?" Kitsun asked.

Victus straightened up. "None. But knowing Vizkous, I can guess that he's looking to benefit himself somehow. He never acts in the interests of the Sith as a whole."

"Too true. But then again, what Sith truly does?" Kitsun asked.

Victus chuckled-and the Mute's keen ears for the first time clearly caught the faintest wheezing in Victus' breathing. The Marauder was sick.

The Mute began to notice other signs of ill health. The armored man swooned occasionally and the blind man was quick to note how Victus occasionally shook his head, as though he were dizzy.

It had to be serious, or else Victus would have found some way to rid him of the illness. If the arcane secrets of the Dark Side were no help, then the blind student reckoned that the Marauder was a dead man walking. It also explained why the man had chosen to show up in full battle armor-if that couldn't hide signs of what was surely mortal peril, nothing could.

For an instant, the Mute felt a stab of pity for the ailing Sith and the fact that the society he was sworn to fight for didn't even allow him the dignity of being mortal. No one could show weakness, lest the parasites who took advantage of a code that, on the surface, didn't actually advocate evil, swoop in and rob someone of what they had worked for.

The Mute clamped down on that feeling. He didn't know Victus. The Sith Lord could be guilty of dozens of heinous crimes. Perhaps the illness was simply his karma.

He shifted uneasily in place as he drowned out the conversation between his master and the other Sith. He himself was guilty of many crimes-murder, theft, arson, assault, maiming, attacking a military base and killing most of it's defenders on two separate occasions, illegally boarding a Republic capital ship and killing the bridge crew, to defend a colony the ship had been sent to annex. Those Jedi Knights-the list went on. He was far from innocent.

The Mute wasn't proud of that.

It was about a half hour later that Overlord Vizkous himself arrived at the top of the chamber's grand staircase. A rather tall middle aged man with an unusual hairstyle that parted neatly at the top and curled tightly around his neck in white locks of hair, with a pointy, graying goatee, he wore a dark plain set of clothes with a red half-cape hanging from his left shoulder. His dark eyes scanned the crowd of military personnel and Sith, his creased face smiling as he spotted Darth Kitsun. "Ah , I'm pleased to have you here, Lady Kitsun," he spoke in a Corellian accent with a distinct aristocratic twist.

"Always an honor to be invited to these sorts of gatherings," Kitsun replied.

"And Lord Victus! I'm pleased you accepted my invitation," Vizkous added as he spotted the armored Sith.

Victus gave a slight bow in acknowledgment.

"Well, I'm sure that you all are eager to get underway, but we have a few festivities before dinner is served, refreshments are being distributed by my servants as we speak. For now, take in the sights and, if you feel in the mood-get drunk!" he finished exuberantly, waving at them all. Before he departed, he signaled for Kitsun and Victus to join him at the top of the stairs. Kitsun gestured for the Mute to follow. He was glad. He had never had the patience to socialize in this manner. The very nature of the place irritated him already. He doubted any of them had ever had to hunt for their food or build their own shelters, as he had. Well maybe the Sith here had, at least some of them. But their life was one of constant strife: They would have been fools not to learn any survival skills by now.

In that way, the blind man noted with no small unease, they were very similar to him.

The interior of Vizkous' study was lined with shelves of ancient texts and books, many of which looked a little moth eaten. The floor tiles were a swirling pattern of black and amber. A simple spherical light fixture glowed gently against a gray ceiling.

The Mute spotted a very unusual man in an all white suit reclining on a nearby leather sofa. He looked fairly young, with unruly black hair and violet eyes. The sleeves of his suit had cuffs with frills on them. His face bore the shape of an arrow pointing downward, and he had very soft, boyish features. Most unusual of all his lips were red. So red he could very well be wearing lipstick, it contrasted heavily with his pale skin.

The Mute had sized him up in an instant. A man of means-or as the Mute would put it, had he been able to speak, irritating.

"Really, Lady Kitsun, you should stop taking in such wild breeds," the young man noted of the Mute with a light carefree voice with a slightly (and irritating) melodic undertone, giving a twirl of a simple alabaster walking stick, set with a red orb for a handle, seemingly made of glass. The Mute, for his part, had to actively stop himself from growling at the man. The instant the blind man had laid Force Sight on the dapper individual, he could think of nothing so satisfying as punching that obviously rich, smug face in.

"Wild breeds can occasionally be more satisfying to teach than purebreds such as yourself, High Roller," Kitsun replied with no small amount of annoyance.

"Hmmm...I highly doubt it," the High Roller replied, hopping up from his position and giving the Mute a once over. The silent man held his peace, while at the same time gleefully imagining punching the High Roller's teeth out.

"My old instructor, you surprise me," the High Roller replied, clearly (and annoyingly) indignant. "I knew you were training some stray, but I didn't realize he was such a charity case. Tell me, stray, have you had any formal schooling?"

The Mute neither nodded nor shook his head. He wasn't about to give the man any ammo. Besides, he HADN'T had a formal education. Anything he learned over the years had been mostly self taught. And almost everything he had taught himself was geared to his own survival, and whatever he couldn't learn on his own he had picked up by watching others.

What still hurt the most was the fact that he couldn't read. His severe dyslexia, combined with being constantly on society's bottom rung had made his life even harder than it would have been. More frustrating was the fact that Kitsun had attempted to correct the problem, first with pills (Which had unexpectedly given him severe, intolerable migraines) and then with implants. (Which his body had rejected, even with anti-rejection medication.) The gift of knowledge-the one thing in his life that would have given him a sense of purpose, to hope that he could move up in life without having to constantly scrape by-remained frustratingly out of his reach. It was also one of the things that constantly made him reconsider fleeing Kitsun's service. He knew that if he left her, he might very well never get the problem fixed on his own.

The High Roller didn't know how sensitive the nerve he was getting on. The Mute wanted to wring his neck.

"My student's education is not your business, High Roller. Remember your upbringing," Kitsun admonished, threat entering her synthetic tone.

The young man nodded, perhaps at last sensing how close he was to being the victim of an assault. "Of course. I beg your forgiveness for my impertinence."

The Mute stopped himself from slapping the man. He had apologized to her, not him. How it was a Sith seemed to survive being rude to everyone was beyond him sometimes-and the young man had to be a Sith, for the Mute could practically smell the Dark Side on him. Sure, with the Sith, there was the Force, but he wondered how smug they would actually be if someone took the trouble to snipe a few from a kilometer out every so often. The Mute could certainly do it to the High Roller, if the guy tried to push him. His mind also began to process the fact that Kitsun had trained him.

Something was wrong here. She trained the High Roller but neither he nor Kitsun was dead? Didn't the apprentice kill the Master, when they were of no further use?

The Mute resolved to try and inquire about this to his mentor as soon as possible. Perhaps their own relationship need not end in blood.

If that was the case-the Mute certainly would have less of a reason to run then he did before.

"The High Roller came to me a few days ago with an interesting bit of Intel," Lord Vizkous began, going over to his desk and retrieving a data disk, which he slid into a hidden holoprojector built into the desk itself.

"My Lord, with all due respect, the High Roller is a banker and gambler: Traits which have ill suited him in the past. But he normally doesn't fit in the roll of spy," Kitsun critiqued. "Unless he's concocted the greatest pyramid scheme ever, I doubt anything he brings would be of much use."

At this, both Victus and the Mute let out a small chuckle. The High Roller blew some hair away from his face in annoyance.

"But this is different," the High Roller spoke up as the projector began flashing images of account info and ship fuel orders, along with personnel details.

"What are we looking at?" Victus asked.

"A highly placed Republic official-with a gambling problem and weakness for prostitutes started mouthing off secret information to one of my hired hands after he found himself in one of my casinos with a debt he unfortunately could not repay. In exchange for my forgiving the debt-and my silence to his wife-he agreed to let me know about a rather large shipment of electrum bullion that will be relatively close to sith territory in a few days. Ostensibly, its meant to be delivered to resistance groups on our side of the fence. He gave exact dates, times, and quantities," the High Roller explained.

"How large?" Kitsun asked.

"Over a hundred billion credits worth, carried by a special freighter disguised as a diplomatic envoy," Vizkous answered. "I want that shipment. But the thing is, I need reliable people to pull a job of this kind. What I propose is we work together and steal the shipment from under their noses. Afterwards, we divide it amongst ourselves."

"A weighty proposal, but why ask me?" Kitsun wondered.

"Because you've proven in the past you are both able and willing to get your hands dirty-" Vizkous began.

"I must protest!" a familiar, snide voice called out.

The Mute clenched his teeth, grip tightening on the foil Kitsun had given him.

Darth Ino, a tall, bald Nagai male with a slightly lanky appearance and ash-gray robes stormed into the quarters. His poisonous yellow eyes fixed a gaze of pure loathing on Kitsun and the Mute.

"Lord Vizkous, Lady Kitsun is the military governor of Ojos, this is true-but her position should prevent her from even participating in an operation of this sensitivity. I, on the other hand, am more able to assist you," Ino pleaded his case, bowing as he did so.

"Oh? How odd," Kitsun replied with a silky sarcasm. "Considering I hardly see you doing anything important. You must be truly effective for me not to notice."

"Watch your tongue, Kitsun," Ino snarled. "It will not help you here."

"Relax, Ino, I had no intention of leaving you out. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't mind if you went along, to secure my interests in this matter."

"Unfortunately, My Lord, I myself cannot assist you in this affair as directly as I would like. My duties searching for spies prevents it-"

"You mean rounding up school teachers and reporters and then having them shot," Victus snapped. "It must be absolutely draining. How DO you do it?"

"The same way I'll plunge a knife into you if you dare question me again," Ino snapped, fixing his eyes on the Mute. "And what is HE doing here? He's not even worth spitting on."

The Mute's light foil activated in an instant, a thin strand of red with a higher pitched hum than a normal saber.

Vizkous chuckled. "Ah, so this is your student, Lady Kitsun? I like his aggressiveness. He reminds me a great deal of your previous student...Anton, wasn't it?"

"Correct," the Sith Lady answered quietly. "Student, put down your weapon. Violence will serve no purpose here."

The blind man shut off the light foil-but only for his mentor's sake. But he pointed at Ino and made a slicing motion across his own throat. Someday, the Mute vowed, he would deliver on his threat.

"I have to say, you wild breeds certainly show some spirit, now and then," the High Roller remarked, chuckling.

If Ino was afraid, he did not show it, instead, he turned back to Lord Vizkous. "My apprentice is eager to prove himself, and I have full confidence in his abilities to get the job done. Is this acceptable to you?"

Vizkous was dismissive, waving him off with contempt. "Of course, of course send him in your place, Ino. But do not fail me. Your student's failure will be your failure. Am I clear?"

The Mute smiled as he heard Ino's breath quicken for an instant before regaining his composure.

"Crystal, Lord Vizkous," Ino answered, bowing again before turning to leave.

Just before he exited, Kitsun called out, "And once again, the Snake bites more than it can poison."

Ino simply grumbled as he walked out.

"The man says he can help, yet flees when given the chance. He's lucky I need him, or else I would have dropped him in a vat of piranhas years ago," Vizkous remarked when he was sure Ino was out of earshot.

"Too good for him. Personally, I would have stuck him in a wind tunnel full of broken glass," Victus added.

"Odd you should mention that. That's exactly how I got rid of a spy once," Vizkous replied, smiling.

"Acid. Pour it on his face and watch it melt," the High Roller suggested.

"And what about you, student of Kitsun? How would you meet out his end?" Vizkous asked.

The Mute thought a moment and then simply made a gun-shape with his right hand, making a popping sound with his mouth as he jerked his arm back to simulate recoil.

"Hmmm...simple execution? Practical, and there's always something to be said for the classics," Vizkous remarked. "He chose the simplest answer that gave the same result. Hardly any expenditure needed. You've trained him well, Kitsun."

"Always nice to know I've done my job," Kitsun replied. "When is the robbery to take place?"

"Two days from now. Plenty of time to prepare," Vizkous answered. "But we can worry about that later. Right now, I'm getting hungry. Shall we?"

Dinner was currently in the process of being awful, to say the least. Vizkous' choice of meal had clashed with the Mute's palette from the start. It could not have been otherwise-The Mute hunted and cooked his food, even when Kitsun had plenty available in her food storage. It was a habit Kitsun had chosen not to try and break him of: It meshed with the Sith doctrine of self reliance perfectly.

The Mute knew that kath hounds roamed the woods of Ojos. He could hunt one later on, after this fiasco was over. Kitsun had begun to grant him greater freedoms, allowing him to leave the castle so long as he returned whenever she commanded it, for whatever reason. Usually it was more instruction.

Anything was better than this over salted and over priced fillet Vizkous had served. The Mute ordinarily liked fish-in his youth it had been his primary source of sustenance in times of hardship.

His nose picked up the disgusting aromas wafting up from it, and he suppressed a gag reflex. The crispy outer layer and unwanted spices-fish tested best raw, in his experience. And what in the world was the asperegus for? What savage thought any of this was a good idea?

He took a bite and muscled it down. His master sat across from him in the grand dining table, a rectangle made of solid gold with posts in the shape of lion paws on all four sides extending almost the entire length of a considerably large grand dining hall filled with simple drapes in a solid red color all around the cold stone walls. It was primarily lit with torches. Musicians played in a far corner with violins.

The Officers and Sith were at separate tables, making the Mute even more uncomfortable. He was, sharing a table with a bunch of people who all potentially wanted him dead for some arbitrary reason or another. Even the one who seemed somewhat tolerable to be around, Victus, had that aura of menace to him. It was probably the armor. And the fact that the High Roller was sitting next to him only furthered his discomfort.

Ino sat right next to Vizkous at the far end, enjoying his status as the Overlords representative. His smug gaze raked over every other Sith at the table. The Mute would have put his eyes out without hesitation had Kitsun demanded it. It frustrated him that she did not. Why did she keep such an obvious threat and rival alive? He had seen up close how cunning his mentor was: She probably could have tricked Ino into killing _himself, _if she were so inclined.

Victus, who was sitting on Kitsun's right, chose to speak up, "You know, boy, the more I look at you, the more your face seems familiar to me. You claim to have seen battle. Did you ever see battle at Krucyfyx?" he asked, leaning forward and clasping his hands together.

The Mute lied and shook his head. It was never a good idea to admit being in a particular battle. There was no telling how the other person would react if they had been on the opposite side. They might try and settle a score.

"Ah. My mistake. I ask because there were reports of someone matching your description boarding a Republic capital ship and killing the entire bridge crew in a surprise attack. I was one of the Jedi assigned to that particular ship. Barely managed to evacuate with the rest of the crew after Life Support suffered a catastrophic malfunction," Victus sighed.

The Mute again shook his head.

The High Roller sighed, "And just when I thought you were going to start being interesting, Stray."

Vizkous squinted in curiosity. "What is this Krucyfyx?"

"It was a colony, of independent Force Users. They were secularists, to be specific. Republic got nervous about having so many Force Users that didn't answer to them, so they sent a Capital ship, squad of Jedi and a representative of the government telling them they were annexed. They said no and ended up being totally destroyed in the battle that followed," the High Roller supplied, taking a sip of wine.

Ino scoffed at all this. "If they were too weak to embrace the Dark Side and defend what was theirs, then they deserved to be destroyed. Good riddance!" He snapped with a contemptuous roll of his eyes.

The reminder of the tragedy-that in spite of everything he had done to try and save the people who had taken him in and treated as an equal-proved too much for the Mute. He started to rise so he could force his light foil down Ino's throat, only for Kitsun to make him stay seated with a discreet wave of her hand.

He regained his senses and continued eating the disgusting meal.

Interestingly, he noticed the High Roller clenching his eating utinsils as he stared at Ino with undisguised hatred. Victus too seemed to have gone stiff with barely contained rage.

He was also shocked to find that a sliver of emotion had escaped his mentor's presence. It was an intense, lethal anger directed at Ino and he could tell with his Force sight, that if Kitsun, who usually controlled herself so well, had let something that powerful escape her, then it must be taking all of her self control not to destroy Ino on the spot.

What was Krucyfyx to these people?

The Mute suddenly found himself even more glad that he had lied about not fighting in it. No telling what they were angry about.

Ojos, Kitsun's Castle.

"You did well today, barring a few times you had to be reminded not give into emotion," Kitsun complimented as Vizkous' automated stretch speeder left them on the castle landing pad. It was starry out. The Mute liked the night sky.

As they headed back inside, Kitsun turned to her student again.

"I'm curious about one thing," she began, "Why did you lie about Krucyfyx?"

The ever-silent man stared.

"Did you actually do what Victus seems to think you did?" Kitsun pressed.

The Mute vigorously shook his head.

Kitsun paused, gazing at him for a few seconds.

"Hmm...drat. Thought I'd learned something interesting about you," Kitsun remarked off-handedly as they stepped inside to one of the castle corridors. The Mute followed Kitsun. He generally disliked leaving her presence until she dismissed him. Besides, barring the fact she was a ruthless, cunning Sith, he rather enjoyed listening to her.

"I was at Krucyfyx," she admitted.

The Mute didn't react to this. Admitting to being in that battle might open a can of uncomfortable memories for the both of them. Still he listened, trying to understand where she fit in. He had killed many that day, and was dreading the possibility one of them might have been someone she had known and cared about. He had enough blood on his hands as it was.

"Perhaps you already guessed this, but I used to be a Jedi Knight," Kitsun continued as they passed through the dark, lonely wooden corridors of her stronghold. They stopped at her personal quarters and she invited him to follow. He went in, having never seen where she slept. It was probably the first evidence he had ever come across that she had a life outside of those dark clothes and that veil mask.

"I was among the rank and file once. I followed orders faithfully and perniciously. I even had a student," she continued, passing over the sparse items in her quarters, which had an all blue color scheme on all surfaces. The Mute glanced at a glass, man sized box containing a set of shredded white robes, with a belt composed of what seemed to be tails covered in red fur.

"At Krucyfyx, I was given an order I could not follow: Forced annexation of a free society. It reeked of fascism to me," she spoke, running her hand over the glass case. She turned back to her student.

"Perhaps you wonder why I tell you this? Consider it part of a lesson."

The Mute, in a gesture of respect, sat cross legged on the floor and gestured with his hand for her to go on.

"You're too kind to me sometimes," Kitsun spoke reproachfully, yet giving him a slight nod in turn. "Anyway, complicating matters was the fact that the leader of the colony was someone I admired. A smart person. Wore a mask designed to mimic the countenance of a white wolf."

The Man's breath caught in his throat. He had fought alongside this woman Kitsun was mentioning. She was supposedly a former member of the secularist Jal-Shey faction. He'd never known what had happened to her after they had parted ways.

"I defected. I tried to evacuate who I could. But the Jedi were everywhere, and as for my own student-I had trained him too well. He was too indoctrinated. He defeated her utterly. He took her prisoner. I tried to reason with him but he wouldn't have it. I was forced to shove my blade through his heart and vaporize it. Then I went on the run. When I next found the leader of this fallen colony-the Jedi had done far worse than kill her."

The Mute saw another sliver of hatred escape his Master's aura as she turned around to face the glass again.

"For a long time, I wondered if there was a way I could have gotten through to my student-but I eventually realized the truth. The blame lay entirely with me. I had taught him to be a Jedi, but I had failed to teach him that there was morality outside of the code. I forgot to teach that the Jedi way was not always the right way. But how could I have taught him any different? The Jedi teach an absolutist system, and so do the Sith-but I stay with them because here I am left to my own devices. Here I am allowed to teach what I feel are the actual benefits of the code of the Sith. Among them, as long as you are still alive and you have triumphed over your obstacles, then your way can be considered correct-until someone else comes along. And that is the lesson I wish to impart to you: I am only as right as circumstance allows me to be. If the day ever comes that you feel you know better, the burden will be on you to prove your belief. I may not necessarily agree with you, but I certainly won't try to shackle you to my way of thinking. That's the mistake these other Sith make, they feel they have to turn their student into a burnt out carbon copy of themselves. It's the mistake Ino regularly makes, but only because it's the one his master made with him, and it's the reason I suffer him to continue breathing: Because his master was incompetent and needlessly cruel, Ino turned out to be incompetent and needlessly cruel, and so will any apprentice he trains unless they are smart enough to think for themselves. Thus he is no threat to me, because I can predict his actions based on how he was trained, and thus his servants."

The Mute nodded. He understood, or at least he thought he did.

Kitsun turned around to face him again. "At the end of the day, you must be loyal to yourself, and your morality. And that is another reason I keep Ino alive: So that you may revile his shortcomings as I do, and avoid his fate. The man is almost a walking stereotype if you think about it. But the trouble is is that there are far too many of him and far too few of us. It'll always be that way. But if I can train you better than I did my first student-a person that caused me immeasurable agony to end-then I will consider my time as a Sith well spent."

The blind man bowed his head.

"You are dismissed. Be up early tomorrow, as we have a robbery to plan."

The Mute rose from the floor and left the quarters.

The Mute woke from dreamless slumber just as dawn was starting to break. He dressed in his typical choice of dark plain clothing and put on his old wool blindfold, still stained with his own blood, that, despite repeated scrubbing and washing attempts, had never come out. He grabbed his cane saber and marched out to the open court overlooking the city near the top of the castle.

Curiously, as he stepped out onto the cobblestone courtyard, he found Foxe fiddling around in the bushes next to the furniture set up. As usual she was wearing a set of dancer's slacks and top, with thin black shoes for maneuvering.

She perked up when he cleared his throat.

"Oh, Mute! Kitsun said you'd be up around this time!" she chirped, waving.

The Mute gestured at the bushes.

"Oh, this! Kitsun has me doing electronic counter-measures, searching for the bugs Darth Ino's unmanned spy drones occasionally drop around our perimeter," she explained, holding up a silvery, stick-like sensor. "After all, we don't want Darth Ino taking credit for Kitsun's plan, now do we?"

The silent man shook his head.

Foxe chuckled. "It's busy work, really. Listen I have to search the outer walls of this place. Kitsun will be along in a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable," she finished heading back inside.

The Mute sat down on the nearby wooden chair and square glass table that had been set out. He started to whistle but thought the better of it. It was too early, and the silence of the morning too golden.

"Mmmm..." moaned a familiar voice behind him.

The Mute was out of his seat in an instant, tactically back flipping away from the source of the voice, his saber already active as he landed.

She stood there, wearing a black, opaque mesh suit with thigh high leather boots. Her figure was an hourglass. She was Twi-lek, with a pale, albino tone to her skin. Her icy blue eyes raked the Mute over as she smiled, her cold beauty marred by a diagonal scar across her face, that started at the top right of her forehead and terminated at the bottom of her left, cone-like ear-lobe. She played with her lekku idly as she chuckled.

Whips. He hadn't seen her in a while. The last time they had met, it had been when he had started killing some of Ino's allies and supporters. She had hindered him every chance she got, forcing him to adapt to whatever chaos she sowed in her wake as she had pursued him relentlessly. Later, Kitsun had told him that she had sent Whips to deliberately impede him, in an attempt to make him think on his feet. He'd been rather cross with Kitsun afterward, until she rewarded him for passing her challenge by giving him a guitar.

He didn't know how Whips had gotten up here. For that part, he wasn't sure why Kitsun continued to require her services. Whips was a psychopath. Her motives for acting the way she did were an enigma to him, as he had never heard her utter an actual word. But then again she spoke with action, not words, and her actions were those of someone who loved destruction and misery.

He may not have known _why _Whips was the way she was, but he knew exactly _what _she was.

Whips licked her lips, walking closer to him. He growled, angling his saber threateningly.

She chuckled again, and with one swift move, knocked the weapon out of his hand with a spin kick.

He quickly tried to leg sweep her but she flipped over him driving her elbow into his left shoulder. He yelled, losing his balance in his awkward positioning and hit the ground.

Whips cackled as he got up, rubbing his shoulder. She mimicked the motion, grinning maliciously.

The Mute threw out a back fist with his right hand, knocking her senseless. But she was smiling as she hit the ground, her nose bleeding.

He summoned his cane to him as she leapt back up, going for her own weapon-

"Enough," Kitsun called out simply.

Her hand instantly left her weapon, a light-whip disguised as a stun-rod on the black sash that served as her belt. She backed away from him, but she winked at him and grinned as she did so. The Mute grunted and shut his saber off.

As Kitsun passed by the mad woman, she said simply, "No more rough housing."

Darth Victus still in his plate armor, and the High Roller, still in his dapper white suit, followed her outside. Whips waited by the glass turbo-door that led into the castle proper. She seemed disinterested by the proceedings, still totally focused on the Mute, who kept his distance, staying close to the dura-steel railing that separated the courtyard from the sky.

Darth Kitsun pulled out a small holo recorder and activated it, showing the schematics of the ship that was transporting it. It was of corellian make, shaped like a flat disk, with a pincer like cockpit and gunner section in the front of the craft, with a set of ion engines in the back.

"So, my former instructor, we aren't actually going to let Vizkous have a share of the spoils are we?" the High Roller asked, twirling his cane, legs crossed as he sat in the chair across from Kitsun.

"Of course not. This is the moment we've been waiting for, gentlemen. It is a great chance to further our cause. The bullion will provide an excellent source of funding," Kitsun spoke quietly. "Whatever lackey Ino sends with us will be our scapegoat."

"We'll have to strike just before they can arrange to have it transported to the local bank," Victus added, staring at the Mute, who was looking out on the city below, but listening to everything. "We taking him with us?"

"Yes. I would trust him with my life," Kitsun replied, also staring at him.

"A bold statement to make for a Sith about her student," the High Roller remarked sarcastically. "He'd better be as good as you say."

"He is," Kitsun assured. "He will not betray us. And then, High Roller, you'll see what a 'Wild Breed' is capable of."

"But do we HAVE to bring that rabid dog of yours with us?" Victus asked, gesturing to Whips. "You'd be better off putting her out of her misery."

Kitsun, in an uncharacteristic display, slammed her fist to the table. "Show some respect, Victus," she snapped.

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Fine. But we both know it wouldn't really be murder. It would be euthanasia."

"Really, Kitsun, you'd be doing her a favor," the High Roller added. "You're far too compassionate for the Sith."

"This is not open to discussion," Kitsun replied. "My student will act as local surveillance. Victus will be the muscle of the operation, provided his health still allows him this capacity."

"I'm not in the ground yet, Kitsun," Victus said, obviously insulted.

"High Roller, you're going to provide us transport and the necessary identifications," Kitsun went on, ignoring his displeasure. "No mistakes like last time."

"You always bring up the incident with the goat," he sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Because it always bears reminding. Especially when our credentials listed us all as Rodians," Kitsun snapped again.

"C'mon, Kitsun, even you thought that was a little funny when it happened," Victus reminded her.

"It was at first. Until the first two weeks in a foreign prison."

Whips laughed at this. Kitsun turned around in her seat to face her.

"No one asked you," she said simply, voice curiously devoid of malice at being mocked as she turned back to her fellow conspirators. "Whips is our diversion. She'll attack a municipal police station, set up the jamming equipment there. Then she'll rejoin all of us when the ship lands. We all attack it, take out the crew and the military escorts they'll have with them, and then fly the ship to a pre-determined point in orbit, where the transfer will be made. At this point, we'll betray Ino's assistant, slay him, and leave him in the stolen ship, after we set it for a course around the planet that will eventually cause it to crash, destroying all evidence that we stole the electrum for ourselves. With any luck, Vizkous will believe Ino's assistant betrayed us all and stole the bullion for himself, only to be killed in the process."

"But where do we move the bullion after?" Victus asked.

"You let me worry about that," Kitsun answered. "I have a few places to store our prize. Places neither Vizkous nor Ino would ever think to investigate. Our dream 'will' come true, rest assured."

One day later.

Alderaanian yacht _Soliloquy._

The Yacht had been supplied by the High Roller. It was an adaption of the Alderaanian diplomatic vessels, A long silvery tube with ion engines stuck in the back and a hammer like bridge section in the front. It had no weapons, as it might have attracted attention from the local authorities. As it came into orbit, a small, atmospheric shuttle with a tri-foil design equipped with a prototype stealth system detached from the main ship bay and descended into the far side of the planet. It was a dusty, frontier colony, with a large military base taking up most of the city's eastern side. The city itself was far from cosmopolitan. It was ramshackle and disordered, like someone had taken a piece of the infamous Nar Shaddaa or Coruscant's underworks and put it on the surface. It reminded the Mute somewhat of Corellia Walled City, where he'd been interned once.

Ino's assistant had accompanied them on the shuttle trip. Kitsun had set him with the role of distraction, as she had with Whips, however, she had told him nothing further of the plan. He was a tall man, with dark skin that looked as though it was often in sunlight. He wore a set of dark red robes with the sleeves cut off, exposing bare arms. His hair was a simple parted look that didn't go past his ears, blue-black in color along with the stubble on his face. His yellow eyes were hard and set deep into his face, his face rounded at the chin but angular at the cheeks. The Mute stared at his choice of weapon, a small black hilt with a solid metal cross guard big enough to fit only one hand. A light-dagger. On his right hand was a tattoo of a hornet set against the back of the hand.

The man had introduced himself as simply "Stiletto." He stood out from the other students of Ino: One, he was still alive, and two: he did not seem to conform to Kitsun's expectations for a student of Ino.

All of them were strapped to the hull in crash webbing, with the High Roller at the controls. Kitsun was seated with the Mute and Whips to her right and left, with Victus seated next to Stiletto on the other side.

Kitsun gestured to Ino's student. "Are you sure you'll only need that one light dagger?" she asked.

"Trust me," he smirked, his rough sounding voice commanding attention. "In my hands, a light dagger is more than enough."

"Not to offend, but you do not seem like Ino's regular choice of apprentice," Victus noted.

"I'm just a simple, working class Dark Jedi taking his shot at the big time," Stiletto answered. "I used to make my living doing the average stuff. Industrial theft, low level assassinations, the occasional bombing."

"Ino must have seen some talent in you. Unnatural for him if you don't mind my saying so," Kitsun spoke.

Stiletto shook his head. "I don't mind. You're not the only one who knows what type of person Ino really is. He actually expects me to kill you on this mission. Did you know that?"

"I suspected," Kitsun replied calmly. "Still, it is a rather dangerous admission to make."

"I only say it because I know I can pull it off. And besides, you already knew Ino was going to try something like that any way in this instance. You and I both know how much he hates you," Stiletto answered, turning to the Mute and Whips. "All three of you. So why bother with pretense? And I already knew you were plotting to kill me by the way. You can't seriously expect me to believe that you'd pass up the chance to humiliate him."

"Why bother getting on the ship at all?" Kitsun inquired, intrigued by the man's frankness.

Stiletto smiled. "Because I know I can kill you first."

Kitsun paused at this. She rather liked his to-the-point nature.

"You seem like you've got a good head on your shoulders, Stiletto. It'd be a shame to remove that head. Ino's a moron. Why not sign up with me?"

Stiletto smiled again.

"Sorry," he replied. "It's isn't personal or anything. And you're right, Ino 'is' a moron. And that's precisely why I can take advantage of him. And when the time is right...well, I'm sure you know the rest. Besides, I pride myself on completing my assignments," he finished.

"I see," Kitsun replied, disappointed. It was not the first time she had witnessed potential wasted. "Well then, in that case, Stiletto, may the best Sith win." She offered her hand.

Stiletto took it, shaking it vigorously, "It will be an honor to dispose of you. All of you."

The Mute was already plotting to kill him when the shuttle landed.


	2. The Blood Hound

The cluttered city was so over built that some structures actually blotted out the sky as he moved through the dark streets, toward the military base after he'd been dropped off at a local roof top. The rain storm on this colony had driven almost everyone inside their ramshackle living space, dozens of neon holographic signs lighting up the shops and the trash strewn streets.

He'd been in this type of place before. He'd lived in them. Once he had thought the city full of mystery and wonder when he was much younger, only to realize that they were also full of despair and hardship.

He'd stuck to living in the forest for a long time afterward, or any place even remotely rural.

The Mute wasn't sure what exactly, was wrong about this whole scenario. But the situation didn't feel right from a tactical point of view. Why would the Republic transfer so much money through such a route as this colony? He could think of a dozen easier ways. Nar Shaddaa's smuggling operation was second to none, the Hutt Cartels being the masters of the art.

Second there was the nature of the transport supposedly carrying it. Why such a small freighter that was easy to rob?

The Mute, troubled, started to make his way to a nearby bench when he noticed something was amiss.

The air had gotten cold to him, a tension rippling through the air the closer he approached the bench.

He spotted the trip wire, set an inch above the seat of the durasteel street bench. He imagined that there was enough plastic explosive underneath that wire to blow him through a cement ceiling had there been one.

He quickly kept walking, trying not to panic as he realized he was being watched. But by who?

Kitsun, Victus, and the High Roller had parted from Stiletto and Whips after they had landed. Kitsun did not fear an attack from Ino's minion just yet. After all, they needed each other to get the electrum. Once they acquired it however, all bets would be off.

The three had again taken off in the shuttle to fly around the city while monitoring the landing pad deep in the open sky city spaceport to the city's east where the freighter was expected to touch down.

"We timed it right, correct? We only have to wait five minutes?" Victus asked.

"Yes," the High Roller answered with a snort. "I've been quite clear in my appraisal of the situation. I've timed it down to the last detail."

"Oh?" Victus asked. "Because something isn't right. That military base should have sent at least some of its troops to the port by now disguised as bank personnel. Where's the security?"

"You're over-thinking this," the High Roller dismissed.

"And you're understating the point he's making," Kitsun snapped, agreeing with Victus. Troubled, she went for her com-link.

The small device blared before she'd even tried to turn it on. She could here blaster fire from the other side of that link.

"It's a trap!" Stiletto yelled. "They were waiting for us! Get us the hell out of here-"

The link went dead. Everyone in the shuttle had heard it.

Kitsun turned to the High Roller. "Looks like your highly placed official swindled you."

"I'll have his head when we get out of this. He could hide in a sewer in Nar Shaddaa and I'd still locate him," the dapper Sith growled.

"Knew it was too good to be true," Victus spat. "A whole shipment of electrum bullion being shipped to a small Outer Rim colony with a military base built close to it. How could Vizkous not see the whole thing reeked?"

"Maybe he knew it reeked," the High Roller growled. "Can't believe I didn't see it. The most basic of cons-"

"Perhaps, but his greed has always over-ridden his caution," Kitsun replied warily. "Don't blame yourself High Roller. Even I was fooled."

The shuttles alarm klaxon went off suddenly.

The High Roller fiddled with the controls, sending the shuttle rocketing forward.

"Missiles!" he yelled. "I can't evade much longer!"

"Take us low!" Kitsun ordered. "Skim the roof tops as low and as slow as you dare."

"Are you crazy?" he yelled back.

"No," she answered calmly. "Do as I say."

"I'm gonna be pissed if you get us killed Lady Kitsun," Victus muttered.

"Put it on auto pilot and set the ship to swerve upward in ten seconds, we're abandoning the shuttle!" Kitsun yelled as she sensed the missiles heading ever closer to the hull.

"This had better work," the High Roller snapped as he abandoned the pilot seat, grabbing his cane. "We're taking an awful risk."

The three all jumped out of the craft as it started to fly upward, crashing onto a landing pad with a parked airspeeder on what seemed to be the roof top of a delivery business, The building itself composed of duracrete with an octagonal shape. It had no windows. The hull was dented as Kitsun landed feet first, yelling as she felt something snap in her right foot as she hit the square pad soon after, with Victus and the High Roller smashing into the seat of the speeder.

Kitsun helped herself up, examining the damage to her foot. The ankle had shattered.

Concentrating what little left of the Light Side that she could still command, she mended it-to a certain point, her rage at having been tricked sabotaging the effort and leaving a soreness that would not abate. She stood up, her black dress drenched in the rain storm and clinging more tightly to her athletic body, as she supported herself with her glossy black cane saber, her two compatriots stirring from their injured state.

Victus slid the High Roller off him, groaning as he fell out of the vehicle himself. "Anybody dead?" he called out, breathing heavily.

"I'm still here," the High Roller answered back.

"Drat," Victus laughed weakly. "You're like a cockroach, y'know that?"

"Go space yourself," the High Roller replied, crawling to his feet.

Kitsun went over to Victus. "Anything broken?" she asked.

"Does my pride count?"

"No."

"I'll be fine then," he gasped struggling upward, wheezing. "I-I need to rest. The fall-took more out of me then I realized."

"No rest. Not until we're off this rooftop," Kitsun ordered, helping him up. "And not until we're out of the open."

Kitsun reached for her com-link, miraculously intact after the fall. "Student?" she called out. "If you aren't dead, regroup at the police station where we left Whips."

Two solid thuds from the other side told her the Mute had received the message.

"Uh, Kitsun?" the High Roller asked, grimacing as he got wetter in the rain. "If they were waiting for us at the police station...isn't it a bad idea to go there?"

"No. Whips survived the attack. I can sense it. The area will be clear of reinforcements-she's too thorough and vicious NOT to clear the place completely and from what I can tell, it's a five minute walk there from where we are once we reach the street."

"Something's wrong with the city," Victus hissed, his wheezing growing more pronounced as he stared at the cluttered, sign drenched landscape. "Nobody is in the street. They must have issued a military curfew just to nab us."

"But who would go to this kind of trouble?" Kitsun wondered.

"Not sure. One of us must have pissed somebody off. Enough to sic the entire military on us," the dapper Sith in white suggested.

"Maybe...maybe they aren't after me," Kitsun trailed off before turning back to the others. "Let's get off this rooftop, now. I sense...that my student is in danger..."

The Mute had been walking quietly towards where the station was located, tapping his cane ahead of his footsteps to mimic that actions of an actual blind man. The rain fall gave excellent acoustics, enhancing his Force Sight ability.

Because of this, he'd spotted them rather easily, the splashes their boots made in the rain giving them away better than their attempt to hide their presence.

His violet blade was out, and he guarded even as he felt them surround him on all sides.

They came out of the balconies, out of the alleyways, Some had rifles pointed out, the others guarded with light sabers that had a core of pure black, with blue, yellow, or green aura's surrounding the blade itself. Their robes had a digital square camouflage pattern, colored grey, and they wore blue beret's, with gas masks. They approached closer, and the Mute tensed.

"Put down your weapons," called out a low sinister voice garbled by a synthesizer. "Perhaps Kitsun's apprentice will be amiable to reason."

The Mute spun around and spotted the source of the voice.

He was as tall as the Mute, though somewhat lankier. His robes, though in the tight fitting Dantooine style, in contrast to the rest of the warriors surrounding the Mute, were a series of patterns in slashes of black and splashes of gray-splitter camouflage. His face was obscured by a mask, the top half the remains of a mask the blind Sith had seen only once before. A white wolf face, though cracked in certain places and with trail's of red running between the eyes, the lower half completely removed and replaced by a simple brown cloth fitting over the mouth and jaw. Overlaid over his robes was a small tunic that looked like it was composed of the gray pelt of some short-haired animal. In his hands were a thick cane, steel colored, but with a dog's head as the handle.

The man chuckled a bit.

"So this is Kitsun's apprentice. I was replaced by a mutt," the man said dismissively, pointing to the Mute's cane. "I see she kept my weapon as a souvenir of her treachery."

The Mute stared at his beloved weapon. This man had been its original owner?

"I was about...oh; I'd say fourteen or fifteen when I first constructed that old thing. I wanted to emulate my master in everything in those days. Such a proper Jedi-or so I had believed. Has it served you well, in the butchery you no doubt regularly engage in as a Sith?"

The Mute neither nodded nor shook his head. He just stared.

"Ah, right, I forgot," the masked man replied, stepping closer. "The mutism, nasty bit of luck there, what with the botched execution and all. They should have beheaded you. More thorough."

The Mute grimaced.

"I wonder whether or not Kitsun's told you the whole story. No matter. You'll have plenty of time to try and answer that once you're in custody," the man continued. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am known to your kind as The Blood Hound. Perhaps you've already heard of the name?"

The Mute nodded. The Blood Hound was a rumor at first, and then he had become all too real during the Otrik Sector Shootings, where he was implicated in the murder of at least fifteen imprisoned Sith warriors, all having been shot in the head and dumped in a mass grave. The Blood Hound had begun to terrorize Sith and Dark Jedi, going after their families, blowing them up in their personal shuttles, all sorts of horrible things that in all truth, the followers of the Dark Side had probably had coming to them for a long time. Standing orders throughout Exar Kun's empire and throughout the systems his Mandalorian allies controlled were to kill the Blood Hound on sight. The Jedi, for their part, disavowed any association with him, even though he clearly had Order resources at his disposal-how else could he go after the Sith so relentlessly? The Mute had once heard about an incident in which the Blood Hound had targeted a particular Sith, one of Exar's first converts after that unfortunate business on Yavin Four. He'd relentlessly pursued him, able to predict the Sith's every move as he fled the masked man's wrath. The Sith, in desperation, had taken a hostage-an elderly man on his way home from work. When the Blood Hound finally had him cornered, the Sith threatened to kill his hostage along with anyone else if the vigilante Jedi ever dared pursue him again, hiding his head behind the head of his quarry.

The Blood Hound's response was to kill both hostage and Sith by shooting them both through the head at the same time.

If this really was that same man, the Mute realized, then he was in extreme danger.

"No need to explain then why I am someone you don't mess with. Will you lower my old weapon? I'd hate to have to school you in its proper use."

The Mute backed away.

"If I wanted you dead, I could have ordered my men to open fire on you. You're in a kill zone. No way out. And I have to say, the prospect of sparing you is becoming less appealing to me by the second," the masked Jedi announced leaning forward. "Understand me. I 'will' kill you if you don't surrender. I'm not even really after you to tell the truth. I want Kitsun the traitor. Everything else is secondary to me. Once she's gone, I ship you off to a prison where you can rot away for all I care. That's the only deal you'll get from me. Take it or leave it."

The Mute chose to leave it. He swung his blade but the Blood Hound reacted faster, dodging and smacking the Mute in the face with the solid phrik alloy and Mandalorian iron rod that comprised most of his own weapon. Then he smacked him in the head with two more strikes, one for each side. The Mute tried to swipe, stance unsteady, only for his foe to dodge and separate his weapon, the handle part sprouting a short, flat blue light saber-blade shaped like a straight, single edged knife. He swiped at the Mute's chest, leaving a burn scar. Enraged by the pain, the Mute managed to get close, head butting the man and knocking his light-dagger aside into the raining street, where it deactivated. His opponent punished the attack a second later, brutally connecting the rod part with the right of the Mute's face.

The Mute felt blood come down the right side of his face as he stumbled backward, reeling from the blow. He jabbed his violet blade forward, only for the masked Jedi to parry with his rod again, retaliating by landing a series of strong blows on the Mute's knees and shoulder, bringing him to the ground as the Blood Hound violently brought the rod down on his silent opponent's rib cage again and again, causing the Mute to cry out in pain as he was beaten mercilessly. But the Blood Hound wasn't done. He got on top of him, brutally punching him repeatedly until the Mute blacked out, the Blood Hound still punching him for half a minute afterward.

The Blood Hound listened for a heartbeat, putting an ear to the Mute's chest. There was none.

Satisfied, he picked up the Mute's cane and signaled his men to leave. While he would have rather done this in front of Kitsun, and feel her heart turn to ash as his once had under the heat of his own blade, this was just as satisfactory. Perhaps the shock of coming across her student, twisted and broken as she had left him once, would be the best meting out of justice.

Or, he could just surprise her at the police station she had no doubt ordered one of her subordinates to attack, in an attempt to prevent first response. Perhaps the ambush team had already killed her. Either solution was satisfactory to him, so long as it worked.

The figure that had been watching all of this from the shadows did not leave them until the Blood Hound and his men had totally left the area about a minute later. The man then quietly emerged from the shadows...

The Mute awoke in an immense amount of pain, the trauma of encountering death fresh in his mind. He screamed, letting the terror of it come out. If he hadn't feared death before, he did now.

He tried to get a bearing on his surroundings. He was on a cheap mattress that looked slightly moth eaten. The room he was in was sparse and shabby, with few furnishings.

His eyes watered as he started to cry, holding his hands to his face. Too close. Entirely too close. Was this what every person who had crossed him felt at the moment of their own end at his hands? If so, then perhaps his karma had not overlooked him. Now he felt what his enemies felt. And he hated every second of it.

He could not remember the last time he'd cried about anything. It was a devastating thing to realize he could reach that point like anyone else. Death had been a terrifying experience to him. More terrifying even then that one time he'd gone toe to toe with Darth Sangraal-before he'd learned he had the Force.

He struggled to get his heartbeat under control-along with his tears. His blindfold had been removed, so he dried his eyes on the sheets.

"You're lucky I got to you in time," said a curt, formal voice that had a trace of Coruscant in the accent.

The Mute fixed his Force Sight on his apparent rescuer. He had short, closely cut dark brown hair, with gray on the sides, though he looked quite young-the Mute wouldn't have placed him a day over twenty-three. He had rough, handsome features and was slightly tanned from life in the sun. His features were square and angular, with a slim nose. He wore tan slacks and dark brown boots with a black leather jacket worn over a cornflower blue shirt.

"If you're okay, if everything feels normal, nod your head," the man instructed.

The Mute nodded.

"Good. Seems I was able to reverse the brain damage in time," the man said, breathing a sigh of relief. "I'd forgotten about the curfew and was on my way home from my job at the bakery when I saw your...altercation. What did you do to piss the Blood Hound off?"

The Mute struggled for a way to explain the situation. But his use of sign language was not as extensive as he would have liked it to be. Besides, he didn't even know if his rescuer could understand it.

"Ah, never mind. I suppose it isn't my problem in the long run. My advice, friend? Disappear. He thinks you're dead. Let him keep thinking that. Soon as you're able, find yourself a nice little cave on an out of the way planet and don't ever come out of it. Because if he gets even a hint of where you're going, he will never stop looking for you," the man finished. "It's how a guy like me managed to avoid attentions like his for so long."

The Mute nodded in acknowledgment. He realized, with startling clarity, that this indeed WAS his opportunity to escape, not just from the Blood Hound, but from Kitsun also. He'd never wanted to be a Sith in the first place, and the near death experience hadn't helped his opinion on matters. He didn't want to fight for the rest of his life. He wanted out.

But as quickly as his thoughts had turned to freedom, so too had they to the prospect of abandoning Kitsun to the fiend that had nearly-correction-HAD ended him. Whatever else he thought of her as a Sith, he still had too much respect for her to abandon her when she needed him most. Especially to someone like the Blood Hound.

Groaning as he realized how bad an idea this was, he stood up-and nearly collapsed, caught by his mystery healer at the last second.

"Easy, you're still too weak. You need to rest. I can hide you for a few days-"

The Mute shook his head. He needed to reach Kitsun. He started for the door.

"Look, wherever you're planning on going, you'll never make it. That bastard's got the whole city quarantined until he gets whatever he's after. His men are on the rooftops. They'll kill you if you're spotted."

The Mute still started for the exit.

His rescuer cursed under his breath before trying a different tactic.

"I can't believe I'm doing this. Look, let me go in your place. If you have friends, I'll go find them. Can you give me some general directions?"

The Mute thought about it, then fished out a small holodisk and turned it on, showing the stout, two story municipal police station, oval in shape, and covered in a duracrete facade with the word POLICE on the front door.

The man cursed something fierce.

"The station went dark after a pair of psychos went in. Great, just great," he mumbled. "Alright, stay here. Don't go near the windows. And get back in bed!" he exclaimed.

The Mute thought a moment, nodded and uneasily lowered himself onto the cot again.

The mysterious rescuer couldn't believe he was doing this as he walked down the street from his apartment a few minutes later, Force Cloak active the entire time. Worse, he couldn't believe he was doing it for what was obviously a Dark Jedi. But he'd never be able to put his past behind him if he didn't stretch out a helping hand occasionally. And he couldn't simply watch someone die and do nothing. He'd done it once. Never again.

The thunderstorm had picked up as he made his way down an alley.

He stopped as he watched one of the strange Jedi in the berets and gas mask leap down from a fire escape, followed by another two, all armed to the teeth. He froze, clouding their minds to his presence, backing up against the wall of a clothing store and letting them pass. He only dared let out a breath once they were out of ear shot.

He continued. His master had better be happy that his or her apprentice was still alive, or this would be one very big ill-thought decision.

He sighed in relief as he rounded a corner and spotted the police HQ. The blood drained from his face when he realized it was surrounded by a number of republic troops and Beret-Jedi.

He spotted the Blood Hound, waiting patiently on the front steps. "Sith! I know you can hear me. Surrender or die! NOW!"

The Mute's rescuer froze when he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure through one of the broken windows on the second floor. The black dress and the skull mask were burned into his memory.

Darth Kitsun.

This was NOT happening, the rescuer thought. No. Not again. Damn that apprentice of hers!

He considered turning around and leaving both the Mute and his master to the Blood Hound's mercy. He'd been on the run from Kitsun a long time, and he doubted her anger towards him had cooled, especially considering what he'd done to the Hyena, her precious attack dog.

But maybe, maybe if he led her to her new apprentice and bailed the both of them out, Kitsun might just dismiss his actions and leave him be forever.

He knew it was unlikely. Kitsun was like a dog with a bone when it came to getting her way. But if anything could outweigh her usual attitude than surely it was this situation.

He carefully increased the strength of the cloak, moving forward quietly into the crowd of soldiers.

Twenty minutes earlier...

Police Station.

Darth Kitsun stepped through the bodies of the officers who'd died defending the station.

Under her mask she frowned. It was always like this when Force User and non-Force-User's interests collided. It was still barbaric what had happened here, even more barbaric that it was necessary.

Victus' breathing had gotten worse, He was now taking gasps of air. The fall had forced him to divert his attention to recovering from the hard impact on his back, which she sensed was rife with pain, and not to keeping his ailing body from deteriorating any further. The High Roller was carrying him on his shoulder as the three went through the areas of the station where the worst fighting had occurred. Stiletto was cutting the badge from one of the dead officer's uniforms with his red light dagger. Kitsun snorted in disgust.

"Souvenir," he explained without looking at her. "You were ambushed as well?"

"Yes. Where's Whips?"

Stiletto pointed down a corridor to his right. "We've bought ourselves some time. I kept the comm officer alive just long enough to to have him send the message that they had contained us. But I think we'll need to leave in the next ten. They'll surround the entire compound. It's what I'd do, If I wanted to take us alive."

"And if you didn't?"

"I'd just have that military base fire a surface-to-surface missile barrage at this entire block," He answered, admiring his trophy. "Don't worry. They wouldn't need this many just to kill us. They want to prevent our escape."

"Any idea who we pissed off enough to arrange all this?" Victus asked.

Stiletto pointed to a the body of a man wearing robes with a strange square pattern to them, with a blue beret and a gas mask.

Kitsun quickly went over to the body. She checked in the robes pockets. No ID. She found his light saber and switched it on. A black blade with a pink aura shot out.

"SOC," Kitsun noted, spitting the initials out like a curse. "They sicced the damn SOC on us."

"Not ringing a bell," the High Roller muttered, grunting as he hefted Victus up.

"SOC. Short for Strategic Observation Corps. They're the Jedi Order's Intelligence Wing. This man was a member of their search-and-destroy teams," Kitsun explained.

"What do they want with us?" Stiletto asked, still looking at the shiny badge.

"What do they want with me, you mean," Kitsun replied absently, trying to conceal the fact that it was the Mute they were probably after. She hoped she was wrong, hoped that nobody had been spying on her apprentice and connecting the dots. If they had, though, then her entire cause could be in danger.

But she'd been so careful! How could they know? She kept him close to her at all times, only granting him his little "Constitutionals" to keep him from getting cabin fever. The dangerous missions she'd been forced to risk his life on were the only way she could be sure he would be able to protect himself in her absence.

"Now who do I know in the SOC that would do this? Elias? No...he was disappointed, but even he wouldn't go this far..." she trailed.

"How come I've never heard of the SOC?" Stiletto asked, finally getting up, still maintaining a general air of disinterest.

"Few have. They clean up the order's dirty little secrets, like stuff that might compromise their faith. Or they undermine the Republic's policies if they feel it goes against the Jedi concept of civil rights," Kitsun answered, starting for where she sensed Whips was. "Last I heard they were locked in an espionage war with the Jedi Shadows and the Sith Philosophers."

Whips was behind a desk of one of the slain officers, her boots up on the desktop as she whistled, face splashed with blood. The entire area she inhabited was utterly ruined by her assault. Computers, data cabinets, evidence lockers, it didn't matter.

Kitsun sighed as Whips waved at her.

"Enjoying yourself?" Kitsun asked, already knowing the answer.

Whips laughed and nodded. She ripped a strip of fabric off a dead officer's uniform and wrapped the dark blue fabric around her eyes.

"I don't know where the Mute is. He should have been here by now," Kitsun answered. She was growing more worried by the minute. Her student had proven able to look after himself in the past, but she was fairly certain that even he could not survive unaided against such highly skilled opponents.

Whips gave a rare frown at this news-something that surprised Kitsun heavily. It had been the first time she'd ever seen Whips genuinely concerned about anything-maybe her student was like something akin to a favorite chew toy for the psychopath, and the psychopath was simply loath to see him depart for this reason alone. Whips, in fact, grew steadily more sullen as the news registered. She threw the hat off and marched towards the staircase.

"Where are you going?!" Kitsun demanded to know.

Whips turned, grinned and held up the strip of fabric to her eyes.

"We need you here-" Kitsun began to say.

Whips wasn't listening. It was strange; she never defied Kitsun this way before. Whips continued to the stairs.

Kitsun gave a gentle flick of her hand, and Whips was hurled against a wall, pinned there by Kitsun's will. The mad woman, however, seemed doubly intent on defiance, and began exerting her own poisonous will against Kitsun's.

"What's gotten into you? You don't show concern for anyone!" Kitsun hissed, struggling to hold Whips against the wall. "I need all the help I can get here. We'll look for the Mute later!"

Whips eyed her for a moment, then suddenly gave a grin and nodded, returning to her usual Evil-Go-Lucky nature. Kitsun released her, trying to figure out why Whips was so dead set on locating the Mute.

The comm station on a nearby wall suddenly chimed. It was a small, circular device with a com-link attached to a cord and fixed to a clamp on the circular panel.

Every one heard it and came rushing, except for Victus, who was laid out on a nearby table, in deep meditation to get his body back in fighting condition.

Kitsun grabbed the comlink.

"Speak," she commanded.

"Hello...Jenny," said a calm, yet vaguely sinister voice disguised by an electronic synthesizer.

Kitsun froze at the mention of her actual name. There was no doubt now, someone had arranged this to get to her, and cared not one wit about her student. Meaning his gift was still secret.

"Who is this? How do you know my name?" Kitsun probed, trying to figure out who her enemy was.

"Why shouldn't I know it? I would never forget your name, Jennifer Olivia Crysanth, not even on pain of death-which you already inflicted once, by the way."

"We've fought before?" Kitsun wondered, an icy familiarity with the man she was speaking to forming.

"Yes. Although, in retrospect, it wasn't a fight, so much as your cold blooded betrayal of both me and the entire order that ended with me clinging to life by the slimmest of margins. I still get a phantom burning sensation from where you used my own light saber to vaporize my heart."

Underneath the mask, the blood drained from Kitsun's face. "You...?" she simply inquired, stunned by the revelation. "Warrand Ashtee, is that you?"

"You remembered," came an emotionless reply.

"How did you survive?" Kitsun asked, totally absorbed in the conversation now.

"Don't act so surprised, Kitsun. Many Force Users have found a way to cheat death at the last possible second-for me, it was using telekinesis to force open cauterized valves and create a kinetic field that mimicked a pumping action in my chest and preserved the air pressure in the lung you punctured-in the span of less than a micro-second after you pulled my blade out. The doctors had to keep me awake the entire time while they were installing my new, cortosis armored artificial heart. They couldn't even risk giving me anesthetic-I'd die if I fell unconscious or stopped feeling anything. You could not even imagine how bad the pain was."

"I'm sorry. Had I known what you would go through, I would have simply beheaded you. It was not my aim to cause such agony," Kitsun replied earnestly. "Ashtee, let these others go. They're small fish-"

"I am the Blood Hound now. And I do not negotiate with Sith."

"It's me you want, Ashtee. I'm the one who made you what you are today. I understand why you're angry."

"Anger has nothing to do with it. I seek justice."

"Liar. Nobody goes to this trouble just for justice. You are angry. And like every Jedi raised on the bread of the Code, you've never learned how to deal with it."

"Do not presume to examine me. I'm impervious to such attempts. You will all surrender, or I will send in a search and destroy team."

"What do you want with the others?"

"It'll be to execute them once I've dragged you out of that station if you don't surrender right this instant."

"Let them go," Kitsun requested quietly.

"Kill them all," she heard the Blood Hound say to his allies. He said it over the com-link so she could hear it. "Before you die, Kitsun, I'd like you to know something. Your apprentice? I killed him."

Kitsun fell to her knees. All was lost. Her efforts, this whole mission-the blind man she'd grown to care for as a friend-the Blood Hound had reduced it all to ash.

"You...killed him?" she hissed, eyes watering under her mask.

"Thought that would get your attention. I beat him to death with my bare hands. Just thought you'd like to know he'll be waiting for you in hell. You must not have trained him too well. It wasn't really much of a fight, so much as it was your karma, meted out in full."

Whips screeched at this, grabbing a chair and hurling it so hard with her bare hands that it lodged itself in the wall. Her light-whip was instantly active, and a cold, murderous look replaced anything even resembling mirth in her gaze.

Hatred that Kitsun had never tasted before suddenly flared in her whole body.

"Ashtee, you listen, and you listen well," she hissed, dark rage apparent through her own synthesizer. "When I survive and escape this, I'm going to hunt down your friends, and kill them. Then, once they're all in the ground, I'm going to go after your parents. And then, I'm going to kill you. But you will watch, Warrand. You will watch first as I destroy everything else you still care about."

"Go ahead," the voice on the other end sneered. "I have no friends, and being a Jedi, have no familial inclinations. There is nothing I care about other than destroying the Sith. You want to fight me? Excellent. I wish to fight you too. If you escape there is nowhere you can hide. And I will kill any who impede my path to you. So go on Kitsun. Fight and escape-if you can. But remember this: While you must escape me every time, I need only catch you once. And then justice will be satisfied."

"You're no Jedi, Ashtee-just a vengeful cur who must be reminded who is the student and who is the master."

"I care not for titles. As long as I win, nothing matters."

"You will regret that viewpoint, in time. Heaven knows the sane Sith do."

"But only when they lose wars. I am on the right side of history. Die."

The SOC operatives burst through the ceiling, which had been brought down by specially placed charges. The High Roller expertly flipped out of the way of the blaster shots and Kitsun roared, he blade erupting from her cane, a dark rod of black with a red aura. They would pay. They would all pay.

One operative burst through the ceiling directly above her, only to be caught in Kitsun's instinctive kinetic field and hurled into a wall, breaking his spine on impact. Her rage lifted up three operatives that had attacked Whips from three different angles and sucked the life out of them, transferring the essence to her compatriots and empowering them. Victus finally managed to stir from the table the High Roller had set him on, a flat, orange blade with a diamond shaped tip erupting from his hilt, and a series of red, concentric circles form just off the surface of the panel he wore on his left arm. Each ring bore the appearance of a light saber blade. A light shield, among the rarest of light saber technology models. He blocked just as a pair of black blades crashed against the shield, hurling the two operatives who had attacked him back ward, slicing the head off a third who'd gotten too close.

The High Roller's cane proved to be a simple sword-stick that he unsheathed, cut, and quickly sheathed again, all in the blink of an eye. He flashed the straight, double edged blade against the rifles two operatives had pointed at him, believing him cornered as they had back him up against an evidence vault. His ultra fast slices cut both of them down in a heartbeat.

The High Roller smirked. "All sizzle, no steak-"

-Another operative burst through the hole in the ceiling, firing a blaster carbine, the shots pinging him in the shoulder. He went down, yelling. Before the Operative could finish him, Whips electrocuted the Roller's would be assassin.

Stiletto never decloaked until he was ready to strike. His light dagger, a thin, red blade about a half meter in length, hissed through the necks of surprised operatives, clutching their throats in surprise as he decloaked, sometimes in front or behind, but never where or when they could get a clear shot off. One operative, however, managed to get lucky and sent a massive pulse of Force energy his way, sending him flying and overturning several desks and chairs,, forcing Kitsun to dodge as she dueled three more operatives with single blades, electrocuting them with her mastery of the Sith arts. Whips had lost all sense of playfulness, ruthless and efficient in how she flicked her rope like weapon about, no longer smiling, and in the grips of a rage the Madwoman neither understood, nor remembered indulging in before as she bisected operative after operative, until finally three survivors managed to encase her in the strongest stun field they could conjure, one about to blow her head off with a flak gun until Kitsun used her telekinetic mastery to make the operative blow away his other companions before turning the weapon on himself, freeing Whips of the field. Victus roared, fighting more like a gladiator than a Sith Marauder, hacking away at foes, and cutting them down by the pairs as he simultaneously blocked with his strange shield. One tried to thrust his own blade in-between the gaps of the shield, only to find the rings it was made out of contorted around the area of the thrust. Victus smashed an armored fist into his enemy.

Kitsun attacked any who came at her in an almost blind rage, her despair at having lost her student overwhelming her. His death hurt, more than it should have if he was just a student to her. Her new found hatred for her former padawan, Ashtee, had replaced completely any lingering guilt she had felt when she believed she had ended him years before. She'd have him taxidermied for this.

Finally, there were no more reinforcements crashing through the ceiling. Kitsun ruthlessly battered down the spirited light saber defense of the final operative, disarming him and breaking his neck with her bare hands.

"Sith! Surrender or die. NOW!" she heard the Blood Hound yell outside through a portable loudspeaker.

Kitsun smirked under her mask. He was stalling. He hadn't expected failure in this instance. More than forty operatives lay dead in the melee.

"I'm bored. I'd hoped the SOC would be a challenge," Victus said, yawning under his helmet. "Sorry 'bout your apprentice, Kitsun. Seemed like he had a good head on his shoulders. Shame I never saw him in action."

"That was a fun warm-up," Stiletto said with a grin, helping the injured High Roller to his feet.

Whips still scowled about; full of rage she didn't understand.

"Quiet all of you. I sense something is amiss," Kitsun trailed, stretching her perceptions out and found one concealed presence in the room. She at first thought it was another operative, making a desperate last ploy to either kill them all or leave alive. Kitsun wasn't going to allow her enemy either option.

She ripped the hidden presence forward, hurling the man to the floor and pinning him there with telekinesis.

Just as she was about to kill her captive-for all mercy had left her by this point, she recognized the mysterious man in the jacket.

"Anton?" she asked, reason and amazement overtaking her rage at her student's death. "Anton Shan?"

"Kitsun," he breathed, nearly paralyzed with fear, knowing his natural mind control abilities would have no effect on a master such as her. "I'd really appreciate it if you let me up."

"Are you with that brute outside? Did he offer you amnesty in exchange for assisting him in killing me? He will give you only a knife to your back for your trouble. Answer me!" Kitsun commanded, pressing the field she had over him harder into his chest.

"Even...even I ain't..stupid...enough to work with the Blood Hound," Anton got out. "Anybody who's anybody in this business is scared stiff of that vicious bastard."

"If you're here to beg my forgiveness for your desertion and for what you did to the Hyena, you've picked a very poor time. Plus, I'm flat out of forgiveness right now. Why are you here?"

"Your student...he's alive. He's badly wounded," Anton gasped. "I'm not lying. I can get us all out of here...take you right to him."

Whips raised an eyebrow, and a familiar grin spread across her face.

"Not like you to stick your neck out like this," Kitsun noted, hope surging through her and washing away the bile of hatred that had built up in her.

"You...you think I WANT to help you?! I didn't even know you were the guy's teacher until I saw you through the bloody window!" Anton shouted.

"And yet you still came here. Why?"

"Here's my deal," Anton growled. "I take you to your student, you forget about me. For good."

"Undo what you did to the Hyena also and I'll think about it," Kitsun said gesturing to Whips.

Anton spat on her mask in defiance. "No deal. I wouldn't fix her for all the Corusca gems in the galaxy, or if you threatened to kill me. The Hyena was an intelligent monster...the worst kind. I march us all out of here under the Blood Hound's nose, take you to your student, you forget about me. That's my deal. You don't take it, then I guess we can all just sit here and wait to see how many onslaughts of SOC you can survive."

Kitsun sighed in frustration. Her former apprentice had a winning hand.

"You win," she said simply, helping him up.

Whips moaned at the prospect of escape. Victus helped the High Roller up. Stiletto twirled his active light dagger in his hands before shutting it off and clipping it to his belt as they all followed Anton down the stairs.

Unfortunately, none of them noticed that Anton's wallet had fallen out of his jacket when Kitsun had pinned him to the floor.


	3. A Foxe, a Sheep Dog, and a Preacher

Everyone held their breath as they walked right out the front door of the station, rifles pointed in their direction, but not aiming at them specifically.

Kitsun's group was invisible. Anton had extended his power over all of them, clouding the vision of both soldier and Jedi as he walked out of the area with them, lightning flashing through the sky as the rain continued unabated. Anton's eyes glowed a bright field of orange as he maintained the illusion.

"I'm impressed, Anton. You've grown in your power," Kitsun mentioned in an admiring way.

"Shut up. I can't focus and listen to you at the same time," he hissed, taking slow steps forward, fighting the strain of hiding so many as they entered through the alley he'd entered this particular street through.

He didn't dare release his hold on the field: He knew they were everywhere, could feel their snipers searching for targets.

When he finally reached the shabby, five story apartment complexes finished in a drab bronze color with a slanting thatched red roof that curved upward at the edges, he immediately used the encoded key the manager had given him and they all filed in quietly. Only when they were all inside and the door to the outside was shut did he dare lower the illusion, everyone automatically cloaking their own individual presences in the Force to reduce the risk of being sensed by the Jedi outside.

"My apartments on the third floor," he said wearily as they went up a skeleton-frame metal staircase, the dull lighting of the small lobby flickering.

They soon reached the poorly kept third floor corridor and Anton immediately went on the closest door to his right, waving the small turbo door open.

It was a small set of rooms, more a hovel than a decent set of quarters. A small set of wood chairs orbiting a bargain-bin holoprojector set and next to it a large white cube of a foot locker that hummed slightly. A small food storage unit. On it had been built a small heating pad, good enough to fully cook frozen products. There wasn't even a carpet. Or paint on the walls. Anton must have his back to the wall financially.

Kitsun stared at Anton. "You ditched me for this?" she asked, insulted.

"I wasn't asking for your approval," Anton replied coldly.

"Anton, if you'd stuck around you would have become one of my key players. Your talent for controlling a person's mind is considerable, even among a culture that specializes in such things," Kitsun replied, exasperated with his continual mistrust. Then again, she thought, she hadn't exactly hit things off on the right foot with him not too long ago. She'd lost control of her anger, a rare occurance.

"Whatever. Your student's in my room," he said, pointing to an open turbo door entrance down a hall on the left side.

Whips shoved her way past Kitsun, bounding into the room. It's small furnishings were scattered about haphazardly. Anton wasn't much of an organizer.

The Mute lay sleeping on Anton's cot, obvious bruise marks and cuts on his face and chest. Whips hovered over him in anticipation.

Kitsun allowed herself to be relieved as she spotted the Mute, who stirred as he sensed her. He quickly back up in the cot as he spotted Whips also, who moaned as he noticed her, laughing insanely.

"Glad to see you're alive," Kitsun simply noted, the statement barely even describing the state she was in. But she controlled herself. She liked him, but she needed to maintain a professional stance with him at all times.

The Mute nodded. The feeling was mutual. When Anton walked in with folded arms, the Mute held out his hand in gratitude.

Anton didn't take it. "You should flee Kitsun as soon as possible."

The Mute raised an eyebrow, withdrawing his hand.

Kitsun sighed, waving an introductory hand towards her former protégé. "Student, this is Anton Shan. My first Sith apprentice."

The Mute stared back at his rescuer in amazement. Anton looked away, clearly ashamed.

This was too much of a coincidence. Their enemy was Kitsun's former Jedi apprentice, who had beaten him, her current apprentice, to the very edge of death, only for him to be rescued by her first apprentice after she'd become a Sith? Even the Force couldn't be that contrived. They were missing something.

"No doubt you've figured out by now that this was all a trap set up by the Blood Hound to kill me. You were unfortunately just icing on the cake for him," Kitsun explained. "The Blood Hound's on a personal vendetta. He wants revenge for his heart getting vaporized. He will not stop until he has us. All of us."

"And thats why you need to all get the hell out of my apartment. I've done what I promised," Anton demanded.

"He isn't recovered yet," Kitsun answered dismissively. "We need to wait for the night."

Anton snarled in derision and left the room.

"Forgive him. We...did not part on good terms," Kitsun supplied apologetically, shoulders sagging at the memory. "I...pushed him too hard, too fast. He didn't understand what the point was anymore. Maybe he never did. So he fled."

The Mute shrugged. Even Kitsun must have went through growing pains once. "I'll allow you to get dressed," she finished, walking out, motioning for Whips to follow.

Whips didn't follow. She'd been patient with Kitsun long enough.

As soon as Kitsun was on the other side of the entrance, Whips waved it shut, leaving a Force barrier over the door.

The Mute tensed, his instincts proven right when she threw a left hook at his jaw a second later. He countered, feinting backward and then suddenly surging forward, blocking her swing with his right and then letting off a left hook of his own that smashed hard into her face.

She tumbled to the ground, knocked senseless for a second. Had the Mute been able to see from another angle, he would have noticed her face had been somehow totally deformed by the blow, the "skin" bunching up in ripples to the right of the blows impact on her cheek. Her face would have seemed dislodged somehow; her left eye sagged in one spot, showing charred gray flesh underneath.

Whips however, entirely too vain to let her rival notice this, quickly smoothed her face back into shape before turning to face him again. She turned to face him on the ground, blood trickling from her lip as she rose, seductively pulling the zipper down the front of her mesh suit. The Mute tensed as he spotted cleavage, backing up against the wall Anton's cot was laid next to, at the same time noticing uneasily how intoxicating her scent was becoming to him.

Whips got closer-and then head-butted him, snapping his head back.

He snarled in pain. Her blow had hit him just between the eyes, his most sensitive spot.

But something was very wrong about all this, he noted as he felt a cold shock going through his veins.

He realized he was enjoying himself. Worse, he was enjoying her.

The very thought of deriving pleasure from this animal who had done nothing but hurt and attack him was disgusting to him, terrifying in the very concept.

The Mute pulled her closer, mashing their lips together, clasping the small of her back. Whips returned the gesture, sliding his hands lower. His brain went wild.

They suddenly pulled apart from each other instantly as they sensed the barrier rip away. Whips quickly zipped her suit up, winking and smirking like she'd won something.

Kitsun marched in, posture clearly hostile.

"What the hell was that all about?" she demanded, staring at her then the Mute. "Did she try to attack you?" she asked.

The Mute shook his head. On the barest fringes of what is referred to as a technicality, he was telling the truth. Almost.

"Then what was she in here for?" Kitsun asked.

Whips supplied somewhat of an answer, waving mockingly and blowing Kitsun a kiss.

Kitsun seemingly understood the answer-and believed it. "No more pranks," she ordered the Madwoman sternly before leaving.

Whips skipped happily behind the Sith. The Mute grimaced, not at all understanding what had just transpired as he followed, throwing his maroon t-shirt on.

"You have my thanks, Anton, for saving him the way you did," Kitsun acknowledged.

"You can thank me by leaving," Anton insisted.

"Oh, now you're just being rude," the High Roller added mockingly. He was prostrate on the floor, Victus injecting a hypo-stim into his arm. Whips eyed Anton with an expression very different from the insane smirk usually plastered on her face. Curiosity. Anton was nervous, pacing about the living room, as Kitsun sat cross legged with the Mute in the middle of the floor. Stiletto was keeping watch at the door, tossing his light dagger in the air and catching it.

"I told you, the Mute isn't healed. And even if the Blood Hound hadn't beaten him within an inch of his life, we don't have a plan to escape the city. The military almost certainly has orders to shoot down any unauthorized flights. We need to obtain the departure codes from someone in the know. And I'm afraid we'll need your help to do that, Anton."

Anton spun around, staring at her hatefully. "I lived up to my end of the bargain, my part in this is done," he snapped.

Kitsun sighed. Anton was just as stubborn as ever.

"You're the only one among us that the Blood Hound doesn't know about. He won't be anticipating you in his plans. All we need is you to steal the departure codes from an active duty officer on that base in the city and bring them back here. As long as you are careful, this should be easy. It isn't like you haven't done something like this before."

"I'm not your lackey, Kitsun."

Kitsun sighed. This was the part about the job she hated the most.

She stretched out her hand at Stiletto, flinging him over to the group before he could react and pinning him to the floor. She batted an eyelash underneath her mask, and his mouth clamped shut before he could scream as his neck was telekinetically snapped.

Kitsun turned her head back to meet Anton's gaze, who by this point was almost shaking with rage. The High Roller and Victus both snickered.

"Do you realize what you've done?!" he hissed, breathing hard as he tried to keep himself from shouting. "You killed a man in my house!"

"I know. I'm sorry Anton," Kitsun replied somberly.

Whips guffawed, sliding down against the wall she was leaning on, laughing and pointing at Anton. The Mute frowned. This definitely wasn't right. Just one more example of how Kitsun could be utterly ruthless.

"This is the way it works now," Kitsun spoke with authority. "You have three hours to break into that base and bring back those codes. If you have not done this by then, I will inform the authorities that there has been a murder here. You'll be blamed, Anton. If you get us the codes before the deadline, I'll allow you to dispose of the body. We'll all wait here patiently."

Anton stretched out his own hand, lightning arcing across slender fingers. "This wasn't part of the deal!" he hissed.

"I'm altering it. If you attack, I'll alter it a whole lot further."

"I could get inside your beloved apprentice's head. Make him strangle you with bare hands!" he roared, eyes glowing orange.

Kitsun shrugged. "Of course you could. But you won't. You're not built that way. So what if you can control my allies? You cannot control 'me'. I'm resistant to telepathic assault. There would certainly be a large amount of noise from the ensuing battle, however short. You'd have investigators here sooner. As they say in ancient parlance: Checkmate."

Anton stared, face twisted with anger. "I saved his life," he protested, pointing at the Mute.

Kitsun nodded. "I know, Anton," she replied, her synthesizer betraying the barest fringes of remorse. "But I also know you have two hours, fifty six minutes left."

Anton's shoulders sagged in defeat. Kitsun had a winning hand, and she was playing it for all it was worth.

"I do this," he said quietly, turning for the exit, unable to look at her any longer. "You and I are done. You stop trying to reacquire me with bounty hunters. And Whips stays just as she is. Got it?"

Kitsun gave a solemn bow. "Of course, Anton. I may change the conditions as I see fit, but I would never break an agreement."

Anton smothered his expletive laden reply and approached the door.

"Another thing, Anton," Kitsun called out. "Whips goes with you."

"I don't need her help," he said.

"Of course not. But you don't honestly expect me to trust that you won't have a change of heart and consider going to the authorities to spare yourself, do you?" Kitsun asked rhetorically.

Whips jumped up, mockingly running a finger down her face to simulate crying before grinning at Anton.

Anton walked out, Whips skipping after him.

"You got him by the fuel cells, Lady Kitsun," The High Roller spoke admiringly.

"Only temporary."

"Are you really going to forget about him?" The High Roller asked, helped up by Victus and laid against a wall.

"Maybe. Or maybe I could simply wait for Whips to complicate matters. She's smart enough to wait until he's got what we want, and then she'll screw him over and blow his cover identity. He'll have no choice but to flee with us then. Hopefully, I'll be able to make him see reason and rejoin our cause."

Victus, who'd been pacing about, his bulky plate armor clanking with each foot step, turned to face her.

"Why's he so valuable?" Victus asked.

"He's got Battle Meditation," Kitsun responded.

Everyone, even the Mute paused. He'd heard Kitsun talk of this technique before. It allowed someone to influence emotions in a conflict, raising or lowering moral as desired. Only a Force User who was highly skilled or otherwise unthinkably powerful could do such things. No wonder Kitsun wanted him.

If that was the case, did that mean he was about to be replaced?

"No," Kitsun spoke, startling the Mute. "I have no intention of replacing you. You are both valuable in your own way. I sensed your fears. They're unfounded."

Kitsun reached over to Stiletto's corpse and took his light-dagger from it, handing her cane to the Mute while she kept the dagger. "I'm afraid this is all I can do for you, at the moment. Try not to lose this one. It took me forever to find the crystal for it."

Stunned by the gesture of trust, the Mute accepted it without hesitation. It had a wonderful feel to it.

Anton had begun noticing more and more soldiers patrolling the streets. Evading them was easy, but with Whips dogging his every step, (And occasionally pinching him.) Anton was worried she'd do something to break his concentration and get them both spotted.

He occasionally stole a look at her as she skipped down the rainy street, the cluttered buildings and litter seeming to close in around them both until he felt as though he was drowning in a sea of neon and concrete.

He couldn't believe she had been the Hyena once. But that same look the Hyena had was present in Whips, just less reserved.

He was thankful she couldn't remember how he'd telepathically trashed the part of her brain that governed reason and coherent speech during his escape from Kitsun. However, he would occasionally catch her staring at him in almost-recognition. He never fooled himself: he'd Force-blast the schutta into oblivion if she gave him cause.

The Hyena had been Kitsun's field agent, as well as his handler during Kitsun's tasks she set for him. From the very beginning they'd clashed, him a reluctant Sith, and her a sadist. She relished forcing him to make morally repugnant decisions to stay alive, trying to make him tap his hatred. In a sense, she'd succeeded in the end: but only to find that hatred directed at her. The especially frustrating thing was how she'd constantly compare him to a man she called "Granite Eyes", almost waxing poetic about him. When he'd insulted the guy in an argument with her, the Hyena's response had been to kidnap him in the middle of the night and bury him alive in a cask full of Corellian Bullet Ants. Each bite was comparable to the pain from a blaster wound. Only Kitsun's intervention had saved his life. The Hyena had cackled like a demon as Kitsun had electrocuted her as punishment. But the next week after they were forced to work together as though nothing had happened.

As a result, he'd never felt guilty for shattering her mind. Force only knew he'd never stop having nightmares over what she'd done to him. He had a whole list of horror stories about her.

Whips chuckled as she followed him closely. At the moment she would not have looked out of place chewing some bubblegum and blowing it.

"This is what I get for sticking my head out," he mumbled, appalled at his own stupidity. He had problems of his own. Obligations here that should have taken precedent, Blood Hound or no.

They were barely half a block away when they spotted more SOC patrolmen, covered in brown trench coats and wielding long blaster rifles, with some type of reflex sight mounted on them.

Anton's blood went cold as he heard one of them speak.

"Closing in on what is believed to the apartment of Roland Jenin. Actual name believed to be Anton Strad, AKA Anton Shan. Have the response teams moved into position yet?" asked one patrolmen.

"No," said another. They're waiting for the Blood Hound's orders.

"Psychopath," the first one muttered.

"Say what you will. He's the one who understands what should be done with Sith. No sparing them, no enabling traitors. Just cutting them down until there are none left."

Suddenly there was a beeping. It came from the rifles.

The SOC troops instantly checked down their sights and started firing at Anton and Whips.

As Anton struggled to figure out how he'd been spotted at full cloak. Whips dashed forward, flicking her flexible weapon and playfully severing the head of a trooper.

Anton decided to run the other way and let Whips handle it. It wasn't as though he owed her anything as the troops surrounded the happy go lucky Sith.

Anton burst through the door of his own apartment minutes later.

"That was quick," Kitsun noted dryly. "Problem?"

"SOC!" He hissed. "We have to leave! We got less than two minutes. They have a way to spot me through my cloak."

"Force Use Alarm Systems have been installed on their rifles," Kitsun explained, rising quickly aas the rest did so as well. "Where's Whips?"

Anton glowered. "I left her."

Kitsun went stock still. "You WHAT?" she exclaimed.

"I stuck my neck out for a Sith once today. No more," he replied coldly.

"I knew you were bitter Anton. I never took you for a coward also," Kitsun rejoined, anger radiating off her as she clenched her fists. "At least you still have uses. You must have a strategy. Somewhere you can flee,"

"Even if I did, why tell you?" he asked snidely, squinting at her.

"Because they will kill you too and you know it. You're in the same boat now," Kitsun replied, getting her anger at the man back under control, realizing The Blood Hound wouldn't kill Whips without interrogating her, meaning there was time yet to rescue her.

Still, the thought of letting the SOC have their hands on that woman AGAIN was almost too much to bear.

Anton thought a moment.

"I was here on business. There's a place we can flee to. The guy in charge might not take kindly,"

"We'll have to do our best to explain," Kitsun supplied.

"No, you don't get it, he REALLY does not like Sith," Anton explained.

Kitsun looked at him before face palming herself.

"Force, Anton, don't tell me you went to the Jedi—"she started to complain.

"What? No! He…isn't a Jedi anymore. That's all I can say," Anton answered. "Follow me. He's in the sewers of this planet."

"As if our indignities couldn't increase any further," the High Roller snapped as he followed everyone out the door.

The Group had traveled for about an hour after fleeing Anton's apartment, slowly but surely avoiding SOC patrols until finally, Anton led the group of Sith to a dead end alley with a small sewer lid.

Kitsun, her black, tight fitting dress and mask drenched by the seemingly endless rain looked at Anton with radiating disapproval.

"A sewer, seriously? I thought this only happened in cartoons," her disguised voice spoke crossly.

"Lame ones," The dapper High Roller added.

"Hey, you wanna take your chances with the guys that are trying to kill us, be my frakking guest. I didn't have to lead you here, less so now that my cover is blown," Anton snapped.

The Mute, for his part simply adjusted his blind fold, went over and lifted the lid, beckoning the others to follow.

Kistun followed her student down and the others sighed and joined.

"Follow me," Anton whispered, leading them through a dirty, dark walkway with only a few running lights over the low ceiling.

"So, Anton, just who is this you've decided to bring us to?" Darth Victus asked, black plate armor clanking as he followed.

"Cambul Marek, my instructor," Anton answered.

Everyone stopped. The Mute paused, wondering why he suddenly sensed apprehension from them.

"You threw in with The Voice in the Wilderness?" Kitsun asked, skull like mask hiding her look of incredulity. "You're taking an awful risk."

"Especially considering the fact that he was the Order's top weapons manufacturer," Victus added. "At least until the fire ate him alive."

"I wasn't even aware he'd survived that little spot of bad luck," The High Roller mentioned, smoothing back his black hair. "Then again, I tend not to bother with the common folk."

Darth Kitsun wheeled around. "He's anything but common, Roller," she said. "He's extremely dangerous. Everyone, on your guard."

"I hope the daffy bastard has some food at least. I'm bloody starving here," Victus mumbled.

The Mute shrugged. How was being dangerous different from any other opponent he'd ever faced?

Anton continued to lead them. The tunnel went quite a way, until they turned and entered into a vast chamber of pipes and electrical generators. The Mute observed some ruins that seemed out of place in the middle of it. They jutted into the top of the chamber with crumbling spires made of dark stone. The main body of the ruins was stout and rectangular, with arches that seemed close to toppling.

He noticed small symbols—crucifixes, they would have been called, in ancient tongues, crudely painted at the front of a circular entrance. He also felt suddenly like he weighed less, like he could breathe deeply. Kitsun had taught him to recognize this feeling. It happened when ever a Force User entered a place strong with the light side.

"Cambul!" Anton called out. "Cambul! It's me! Anton! I need to talk to you," Anton yelled, stopping at the entrance.

"Of course, Anton," called out a dry, light hearted voice twisted by an electronic hiss. "The Sheep always has need for his Shepherd,"

Cambul Marek appeared in the front entrance—and everyone with the exception of Anton tried not to recoil back in disgust.

Little more than a head and part of a body lashed with cybernetics, His jaw was missing, a crude vocabulator inserted just under the roof of his mouth. His eyes had been replaced by small, green mechanical orbs, what was left of his skin was pale and fed nutrients by various vials and machines attached to a transparisteel torso that exposed crude gears and generators that acted in place of organs. His arms were mechanical, but covered with strips of skin at the arms and finger-tips. What little was left of his face was pale and sunken, and his cyborg body was covered in a toga made from animal skins.

"What hast thou brought me, Sheep?" Cambul asked. "Men and women covered in veils of dark and garbed in sin. Unwise."

"I apologize but I had no choice. The SOC is hunting both them and me."

Cambul looked to them and then Anton again. "My Shepherds work cannot be interrupted for the sake of a few souls who choose to wield perdition, Anton. We're too close now to be distracted by the howling of wolves above. Tell me; how thou became erstwhile entwined with the wages of the wicked you bring to me?"

"One of their own was nearly killed by the Blood Hound. He's after the woman," Anton answered respectfully, pointing to Kitsun.

Cambul straightened.

"So, the one beset by agony sees his next prey in her?" Cambul asked, turning to Kitsun. "Interesting. Tell, Dark Shepherdess, what hast thou done to anger the Masked Jackal?"

"I stabbed him in the heart with a light saber. He didn't die. That was my mistake," Kitsun answered.

"Ah, than thou art the reason the Jackal remains. He vexes me, interrupts my work. He vexes thou too, perhaps?"

"Vex is a diplomatic way of putting it," Kitsun answered.

"Ah. Come, thou art my guest," Cambul answered. "We might help each other, and in so doing outwit both the Jackal and the Abomination I pursue with toil and visions."

"So you're the legendary Cambul Marek," Victus whistled as they entered the cyborg's sanctum. It was lined with Kolto tanks and obviously used stasis beds. Human and alien lay on many of them, and many more occupied the giant tanks.

"Legend? Please. I'm merely a relic," Cambul replied dryly as he walked, metallic feet clicking against the stone floor.

The Mute tensed as he spotted familiar camouflage robes on some of them. SOC.

Kitsun noticed it also.

"What are SOC doing here?"

"Thou art deceived by the sheep's clothing that the wolves above have stolen from these unfortunates," Cambul said gesturing to the injured. "Look upon the injured lambs in need of suckling; they are the true SOC. The wolves above that pursue ye call themselves Jedi, but wreath themselves in darkness."

Kitsun blinked under her mask before understanding.

"Jedi Shadows," she hissed in displeasure. "I should have guessed. They're performing a smear operation, aren't they? They're trying to discredit the Corps to the council. Should have known something was wrong," she continued, pacing about. "This scale of operation is too obvious, too ham-fisted for the Corps. But what were they doing here to begin with? More importantly, Marek, why are you protecting them?"

"The clan of spies and I share a common foe. We had pursued her to this world, which used to be a stronghold of hers. She directs with slender hands the Sith who think themselves Philosophers. The Abomination's purpose is shrouded from me however."

Kitsun paused.

"The Sith Philosophers are here, on this world?" Kitsun asked.

"The Jedi clothed in Darkness set upon us with knives and blasphemy, rending our souls from our mortal coils," Cambul continued to explain. "These poor sheep are all that remains of the flock."

"Hold on, who's this Abomination you keep mentioning?" Victus demanded to know.

"Darth Sangraal, Dark Lady of Regeneration," Anton answered for him.

The Mute perked up in clear alarm. He tried to stifle the sudden gnawing of fear but Kitsun caught it.

"What is it, student?" she pressed. "Have you met this Sith before?" There was so much she still didn't know about him, so much he would not tell her.

The Mute nodded, after a moment's hesitation.

"Your Sheep Dog knows the danger, Shepherdess," Cambul continued. "Still, my work must be derived from that which is unclean. The Abomination must be confronted before we take our leave of this place."

"Wait, why should we help you, if she's your problem?" Victus demanded.

"The Abomination is everyone's problem, even the problem of the spoiled racist known as Exar—though the Fiend knows it not," Cambul answered. "A way must be found to stop her, for she has killed almost everyone that has raised a weapon to her…or worse."

Cambul looked at the Mute. "Your Sheep Dog may be of use. His coil thrives in shadow—yet his heart retreats from perdition. The contrast will intrigue the Abomination. Among other things."

"You will not use my student as bait," Kitsun affirmed, folding her arms.

"The only way off this world for any of us is to go through her. The Force tells me so. The Abomination indulges in mortal pleasures, and pleasures of the flesh are her cardinal vice. Little wonder, as her power is derived from her flesh and the flesh of others," Cambul replied.

"Why must we confront her?" The High Roller asked

"The Jackal is not stupid. He knows what I and the spy clan were here for, and if he has not learned her location he soon will. We must reach her before him. And your Sheep Dog may be the best way to get close to her without her killing or turning us. And what I need can be gained only from her."

"Wait, what is it that you need from her?" Kitsun asked, suspicious.

"That, Dark Shepherdess, is my concern and the concern of that most high," Cambul answered. "But we must rest first, and derive a means to use wisdom against the vomit and filthiness of our enemy's deeds. Thou all art a guest in my house. Eat. Drink. But do both sparingly. This place is but an oasis in a dark desert, and the sandstorm gathers to rend our skin from our bone," Cambul finished, turning to a computer console.

Everyone had taken the time to meditate and gather their strength. The Mute had busied himself, trying to take his mind of Whips' situation now that it had begun to register, by staring at the Kolto tanks full of men and women. Anton was restless, constantly busy banging a rubber ball against a stone wall. Victus had decided to rest on one of the medical units, the excitement having exacerbated his ill state. The High Roller sat at a desk looking bored.

Kitsun however, had simply watched as Cambul had headed to a sequestered area and followed him, to a small area of the stone temple that had a workbench and what looked like a crude furnace made of clay next to it. She watched as he gathered what looked like a small crucifix made of rounded brown wood with a bulbous bottom and an elaborate circle with ivy designed into the center, which featured a green gem encased in a transparisteel chamber. Almost certainly a disguised light foil.

He got on both knees, held the weapon to his forehead and began slowly rocking back and forth as he began to whisper something she couldn't make out.

"It's odd," Kitsun began, snapping him from his reverie. "Anton seemed to think you would be displeased with having to shelter us."

"I would have been displeased if he had truly brought Sith, but we both know that thou art but a mirage in that regard, as are the rest of your flock," he answered neutrally. "If thou had truly been one of the black dogs, I would have slain ye and dashed the heads of your flock against the rocks without a moment's hesitation."

Kitsun was taken aback. "You do not believe I am Sith? I rejected the order."

"As have I."

"I teach my student of the dark side, of the Sith method."

"Ye train the Sheep Dog to imitate a rabid wolf, Shepherdess, but anyone can pretend to be rabid when it suits them. But it's slightly easier for him, given his affliction."

Kitsun went still. "What affliction."

Cambul stood and turned, his mechanized joints clicking as he gave a piercing stare. "We both know. He is a Caltrop."

Kitsun's first instinct was to draw on the full power of the Dark Side and smash him like he was a giant metal cockroach, but she composed herself.

"How did you know?" she simply asked.

"In exchange for my devotion to a higher power, I am informed of a great many things, _Jennifer,_" Cambul answered, the inflection on her actual name like the crack of a whip to Kitsun's ears. "What even a higher power cannot help me to understand however, is why thou pretend to be one's own servant girl, and call yourself Foxe when thou choose not to wear that veil of darkness."

Kitsun was completely off guard at this point. The man, even in his desiccated state, was a master of using the Force to divine the truth. If he was still this powerful as a cyborg, she would have hated to face him in his prime.

"He needs a connection. He must not cut himself off from all feelings for others. That is the mistake so many make as a Sith. It turns them into monsters. I do not wish that for him," Kitsun explained.

Cambul chuckled.

"Thou make excuses to mask an interest," he simply said. "Thou seek to tell me next that thou do not consider him more than a useful tool."

Kitsun fought back the emotion that always seemed to bubble up between her and the Mute when she was pretending to be Foxe, the one she never acknowledged.

"He is a good student. It would be a shame to lose him," she replied, masking her unease at his perceptiveness. "Especially since he is a Caltrop."

"Ah yes, the curse that is the gift," Cambul went on, waving dismissively. "The Sheep Dog has an abnormal neurological condition, nothing more."

"It's more than that and you know it. His nervous system is wired different. It makes him naturally able to tap the Dark Side—but without the psychological side-effects of prolonged usage."

"And all it cost the Sheep Dog was his ability to read, write, or speak clearly. Such a great leap forward. Probably stuttered before he was shot in the head," Cambul replied scornfully.

"Don't you see, Marek? He's proof. Proof that it's possible to use the Dark Side without turning into a monstrosity."

"It's also why thou has to hide him like an egg in the sand, hoping no eagle, light or dark, comes to pluck him, right?" Cambul asked, pacing about. "You see now why I must tempt the Abomination with him, right?"

"No actually."

"The Philosophers tend to experiment with the secrets of blood and bone, twisting unborn to suit their vile purpose. If they got their hands on someone like him, it would be a massive windfall."

"Precisely why he should not be handed to them on a silver platter, especially not to this 'Darth Sangraal'," Kitsun asserted. "Know this cyborg; I will do whatever is necessary to protect my student. Even if it means killing you. Or, Force forbid, Anton."

"Do you think him handsome?" Cambul asked, leering.

Kitsun turned and walked away.

The group had traveled farther down the sewer system, with Cambul leading the pack, still holding his light foil and whispering solemnly.

The Mute was in the back, with Kitsun. He frowned as he sensed more agitation from her than he had ever felt before. She was afraid.

To be fair, so was he.

"Sangraal and her cretins made camp deeper in the sewer system, where much of Sangraal's now-demolished fortress still had an underground network. Intel says they were excavating some kind of chamber," Anton explained as they walked down the dark, winding path in the tunnels, darkness ever ahead of them.

"So tell me Anton," Kitsun started, "How ever did you fall in with Marek after you fled my service?"

Anton looked at her with a mixture of contempt and disdain; Kitsun wasn't sure which ruled more over him at the moment.

"Fall in?" he asked. "Kitsun, who do you think convinced me to flee you in the first place?"

Cambul chuckled. "Guilty," he mumbled. "Be silent now; we approach the den of the unclean."

The group slowed down as the tunnels led to a wide hollowed out cavern, filled with ancient equipment. The ceiling was many stories of height above them. Rocks like teeth jutted out from above. It was very dark.

The Mute, tightened his grip on Kitsun's cane, feeling the tension of the Dark Side in this place. Part of him was hoping Sangraal would not recognize him.

The group ventured forward. The darkness in the cavern became more oppressive.

"How powerful is Sangraal?" The High Roller asked.

"People have used blasters, bombs, rifles, flame throwers, animals, Jedi, Dark Jedi, Sith, vehicles, turbo-lasers, grenades, light side purification techniques, life draining, and even kitchen sinks. Nothing works. She heals as fast as you can injure her most of the time," Anton answered nervously.

"What is she?" Victus asked.

"Some say she's a demon, others say—"Anton began.

"A demon, you say?" called out a rich female voice with a slight hint of an accent. "Hmm, a demon…"

They came out of cloak suddenly, bearing torches. They wore tight fitting black robes cut in the Dantooine style, with dark hoods and bone white masks with drips of red like blood above the brows. All aimed blaster pistols.

Their leader stepped forward. She was caramel skinned, with an hourglass figure, Her long and straight, and blacker than midnight, her full lips were the color of black venom and her slender arms and hands ended in pointed, silver nails. She seemed to prefer walking around barefoot and indeed preferred to leave most of her body bare, wearing only a simple long white loincloth and a white strapless top. Her eyes contained no irises, being two orbs of red with a wet glossy sheen to them.

"Hmm…demon…sorry handsome, I'm afraid we'll have to disagree there," Darth Sangraal said, stepping forward and giving a bow, her voluptuous figure slinking like a panther. "After all, how could a demon be THIS cute?"


	4. The Abomination

The group had been lead by sith into what looked like a makeshift camp filled with computer and excavation equipment. Large dark tents had been set up and every sith was scurrying about, busy with some task or another.

The workers stopped as they spotted the prisoners. Sangraal politely bade them to follow her into the largest tent under armed guard.

The Mute struggled to control his fear. He'd fought Sangraal before he'd ever met Kitsun. It had been on Corellia.

It had seemingly been his curse back then. He had been without home, a transient constantly looking for his next meal or the next abandoned house to shelter him, content to eat whatever scraps he found or hunted.

His curse came in the form of Dark Jedi and sith. He had an absurdly bad habit of running into them constantly, without meaning to, and without logic. He would always be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he almost always ended up having to defend himself or another against them.

He was very good at killing their type as a result, but even he couldn't best Sangraal. The best he had been able to do was to delay her or sneak away, but a straight up fight had always been out of the question.

Sangraal strutted to a small folding desk that had been set up, and reached for a datapad, lips pursing as she perused its contents.

"Oh, such 'bad' luck for you, being stalked by the Jedi Shadows," Sangraal began, pacing a bit as looked at them with a wicked smile. "My spies topside have been gathering up what intelligence we could. I of course, know of Cambul Marek already by reputation as well as certain insider sources, she remarked knowingly at the cyborg. "Darth Diogenus sends her regards, by the way."

"The Hermit shall have the wages of her sin eventually," Cambul replied. "In truth, I ought to thank her. Burning alive was the best thing that could have happened to a sapling such as I. The fire purified me, ate away my need for almost all earthly comforts. The pain was rather exquisite also, expanding my mind."

"I'm aware of what happened, Master Marek," Sangraal replied with a mock sigh. "It's a pity, really. I've seen some of your old photos. You were quite the looker back then," she finished with another smile.

"The man that thou saw in those windows of yore," Cambul replied with a hint of disgust. "Was a fool who found no pleasure in understanding and delighted in uttering follies. He got what was coming to him. He got what he deserved."

Sangraal raised a brow before turning to Kitsun.

"Let's see what we have on you…"she trailed off. "Ah, Darth Kitsun. A member of that Barbarian Exar's Sith Empire. Fairly unremarkable career, keeps few allies. Nothing stands out."

"I dislike leaving a large foot print," Kitsun spoke formally.

"No doubt," Sangraal answered in turn, pacing about, and business like, before moving onto the armored Victus.

"Darth Victus, a Marauder," Sangraal started. "Frontline combatant, several major battles, nothing stands out, like Kitsun. Her nostrils flared as she sniffed him. "Sick and dying," she said clinically after a moment. "My sympathies."

She turned to the High Roller. "A gambler with some minor command of the Force," she said to him.

The High Roller straightened out his all-white clothes. "I'm a gambler with taste."

"I'm sure you are," she replied with a roll of her eyes. She moved to Anton.

"Now this is interesting," she began, eyeing him up and down. "Anton Shan, born Anton Strad, son of a famous violin player. Enlisted illegally at age 17 in the republic army and was captured by the Sith a few months later, bailed out from public hanging by Kitsun, who he fled after a few months of service. Intense mind control capability," she finished, smiling as she got closer. "Tell me, Anton, you ever thought of going pro?"

Anton didn't answer, he just stared.

"Do you think you could control me?" she asked. "Because I might like that."

Anton ran a subtle, cursory telepathic scan of her mind and recoiled back in horror when he realized what she was capable of.

Still smiling, Sangraal got closer. "It's okay, I don't bite…unless you're into that sort of thing," she grinned.

"No way in hell," he said emphatically.

She drew closer to him, her lips to his ear.

"Oh, you'd be surprised," she whispered, "At what goes on in hell…"

She chewed on his ear lobe, struggling not to giggle as she felt him shiver.

She withdrew as she focused on the Mute, who simply stood staring.

"Hmmm…you look familiar," she began, striding up to him, glancing at the data pad. "No name. No birth date. No known home planet. Age unknown, species believed to be baseline human. No past. No property. A giant blank…intriguing. I love a mystery," she said, peering closer before her eyes widened in recognition. She reached for his blind fold, he tensed, wondering if he was about to die, if that cyborg had miscalculated.

She removed the blindfold and stared into sightless eyes the color of granite.

"Why, hello, Granite Eyes," she said happily. "It feels like forever since Corellia. Those stones in your head are as sexy as I remember," she said. "You clean up well."

She looked to the other guards. "Escort the others out, I simply must catch up with my old friend here…"

The Mute made no sudden moves as he watched the Sith escort his allies out.

Sangraal sauntered over to her desk and leaned against it.

"Such a surprise to catch you amongst the Sith. I thought you hated our type…or is it rather a marriage of convenience?" she asked.

The Mute made no attempt to answer. He was processing every conceivable angle she could attack him from, which, given her shape shifting abilities, was all of them.

"You know, after I faced you, I became curious how a simple vagrant could kill fourteen members of my team. I started researching you. You've been busy. I imagine if the mainstream Sith knew your proclivities for putting them down like the animals they are, you'd have a bounty on your head the size of Coruscant," she went on slinking toward him. "Tell me, why you and yours have come to this Force-forsaken planet when all it contains are Jedi Shadows and a lot of angry Republic military?"

The Mute pointed to the large, crater like scar between his eyes. The blaster wound that had taken what little speech he was capable of making."

"Oh, I see. So that's why you don't speak," she replied, eyeing him up and down like a shark. "I guess we will have to resort to a simple yes or no, then. I ask, and you nod you head or shake it. Are you allied with Cambul Marek?"

The Mute shook his head. Cambul had instructed everyone to be as truthful as possible. It would make her suspicious.

"Your goals merely converge?"

The Mute nodded.

"Those goals wouldn't happen to be disrupting my operation here?"

He shook his head again.

Sangraal bit her lower lip.

"I imagine you're running from the Jedi Shadows?"

He nodded.

Sangraal chuckled, slinking up to him.

"Poor boy," she said, running a finger down his chest. The Mute tensed as he felt an abnormally pleasurable sensation from her touch, like electricity made of euphoria. "You picked the worst place to run to. You're running from the Blood Hound. I'm awaiting him…as well as digging for a rather large, vault-sized piggy bank I saved here for a rainy day."

The Mute raised an eyebrow as he stared at her.

"Why? I've had information on him also. He survived being stabbed through the heart with his light saber, did you know that?"

The Mute made no indication that he had. No telling what she would do if she realized that they were more than just ordinary prey for that psychopath.

"He survived. I wanted to know why, and then I got my answer. He survived by feeding on his own pain for sustenance. The Curse of Sion," she explained, walking around him, still tracing the contours of his shoulder with her finger.

The Mute paused.

"You've heard of Darth Sion?" she asked. When he shook his head, wincing now at how her touch seemed to activate wild sensations of ecstasy in him, she huffed and continued.

"Darth Sion is a name given to those who feed on their own pain to survive any injury. There have been six so far. The technique is flawed, as the pain eventually becomes so great that they simply must let go in order to stop it, but in the meantime they are nearly unstoppable. He tapped it, once, and managed to survive, but for some reason he didn't embrace his new destiny. Something held him back. I want him to come here. So I can turn him to us, use his gift, his curse, for the Sith Philosophers," she answered. "But after running into you again, after the sheer strength of the Dark Side that I sensed in you, I just couldn't help but be curious. I could feel your master's agitation when I focused on you. Cambul seemed to expect it. Why?"

The Mute shrugged. His master's motives were very clear to him in some cases, and shrouded in others. He trusted her enough however, that he was simply unwilling to investigate them.

Sangraal paused, turned him to her and then ran a finger down his shirt. It hissed and burned, splitting open.

Something about you…more noticeable than it was before…" she trailed, sniffing his neck. "What is it about you that's so odd to me?"

The Mute tensed and pulled back as Sangraal's face drew closer to his.

"Do I make you nervous?" she grinned, teasing him, as she ran her finger down his exposed chest, his knees buckled and he dropped to the ground from the pleasure feeling he realized was now decidedly unnatural in its intensity. Scarily, he realized he liked it.

"Sorry. I should have warned you. I can link up with an individual's nervous system when I'm in extremely close proximity," she explained kneeling next to him. She drew his face next hers and kissed him.

Electric pleasure raced from her lips to his and The Mute pulled back out of shock. It felt so good his lips had nearly gone numb.

Sangraal licked hers. If she was a cat, he was certain she would have purred.

"You love somebody," she noted, the transfer of information having only been cursory. "But you don't know how to admit it to yourself. I wonder who it could be?" she asked. "But as interesting as that fact is, given you're a Sith apprentice, it isn't quite what I'm looking for. Tell you what, let's try this again with a more…familiar face.

Sangraal concentrated, and her entire form twisted, features and clothing shifting to a figure that made the Mute struggle to contain his surprise.

She'd taken the form of Whips. She was even wearing that black outfit the madwoman favored.

Sangraal/Whips leaned down, drawing his face to hers. "You, my friend," she chuckled "have some things you need to work out,"

She kissed him harder this time and the Mute's brain went wild, half from the pleasure sensation overloading his senses, and half from pretending she actually was Whips. He grasped her, returning the kiss, momentarily forgetting what Sangraal was capable of. Sangraal seemed to enjoy it almost as much as he did, running her finger down his neck and increasing the sensation as she did so.

After a few moments, she gently pulled away, twisting her figure back into its default appearance.

"So that's what they were so eager to hide," she said, looking down at him in amazement. "You're a far bigger prize than another Darth Sion. I haven't run into another Caltrop in centuries."

The Mute stared uncomprehendingly.

Sangraal noticed this and laughed.

"You genuinely don't know, do you?" she asked, red eyes flashing. "Your master plays her pazzaak hand close to the chest."

She helped him off the ground, but he didn't return her stare. He couldn't figure it out how he had lost control of himself the moment she looked like Whips.

"I can't let you go, now, of course," she said. "The master of our organization, Darth Kashtu, would be extremely cross if I let you simply slip through my fingers. In exchange for your cooperation, I'll let your…friends…go," she said. "Hell, I might be willing to kill the Blood Hound if he hunts you. Another Darth Sion will come along eventually."

She slinked up to him again, morphing into Whips, but keeping the glossy red orbs that served as her eyes.

"So, what do you say?" she asked with Whips' face. "Do I have your cooperation?"

The Mute thought about it. He could always escape; he had evaded Sangraal in particular before. He could do so again.

"Excellent," she replied lasciviously, pressing her hand against his chest, right over his heart, which was suddenly covered somehow in the pleasure sensation she was able to generate. He stopped breathing for a second. "Don't worry, I'll try and make your stay as…_pleasant_ as possible," she grinned, morphing back into her regular form.

Darth Kitsun paced about in the empty tent she and the others had been escorted to after they'd been separated from the Mute.

Cambul knelt on the floor, rocking back and forth as he clasped his hands together, muttering things no one could hear.

"Well, you got us captured," the High Roller huffed, blowing his dark hair away from his face. "Now what?"

"We wait for the blasphemers above to flood the sewers," Cambul answered.

Kitsun turned around.

"You have put my student in extreme danger, Marek. This had better work. I'm taking an awful risk," Kitsun muttered."

"There is a plan for all things," Cambul answered. "For sinners and saints alike."

"Well, would you mind giving the rest of us an idea of how your super smart-let's-get-captured-by-the enemy-and-a Sith Lord-that-can't-die strategy is actually going to start paying dividends? Because this plan is starting to suck," Darth Victus snapped, trying to meditate along with the High Roller and failing miserably.

"When you place two male Sand Panthers in an enclosed space with no food, they will eventually fight to the death," Cambul answered. "Like a flood our enemies shall be swept by the tide of their feud."

"What do you mean?" Kitsun pressed.

"Simple, I have activated a tracking beacon," Cambul said, removing a small device covered in circuitry from a compartment in his robotic right limb. "They are probably on the way down here as we speak."

Military Base, City Center.

The Blood hound watched as the telepaths in the unit worked the madwoman over in the chair, injecting her with drugs that had no label. The surgical lab they were all in was prepped and had been receiving and sending the Blood Hounds victims back out all day.

He tightened his grip as he winced from the pain in his chest. Most days it was like a fire, burning his thoughts, rendering food and drink tasteless by sheer virtue of his inability to never stop focusing on it.

"Will she be ready soon?" he asked one of the masked Shadows, clad in black and white robes, and no longer in SOC garb.

"We're still trying to repair the mental damage. Whoever attacked her knew what he was doing," the shadow answered.

"Has she suffered because of it?"

"Of course, her brain was Rodian cheese," the male shadow answered. "Strange thing, I think she has enjoyed every minute of it."

"Good," he snorted, still clad in his wolf mask and camouflage robes. "I can rest easy."

He had hardly been able to contain his surprise when he realized who they had captured. She was the Hyena, and yet, not the Hyena. He approached her. The Madwoman broke from her trance and focused on him, grinning.

"Why Jennifer chose to salvage you, I have no idea; I made sure no one would take you seriously after I defeated you on Krucifyx. That the only way you'd be remembered was as a rabid dog. But, I kept your mask though," he said, pointing to his face. "All that remains of your former identity." He gripped her by the throat. "I should kill you. The danger you present to the Order and our desires for other Force Users remains, though it is hidden. But I figure, what better way to cause Jennifer agony than to make her kill the very person that made her betray the order to begin with? Is that not the best punishment for what you caused her to do to me?" he growled at her uncaring stare.

Another Jedi Shadow rushed into the room.

"Sir!" he called out, "Intel reports a tracking beacon being activated deep in the underground sewers!"

The Blood Hound perked, tightening his grip on his old wooden saber-cane.

"Dispatch the recycles into the tunnels. And dispatch as many of our own as you can spare. I will be leading the engagement," he answered. He looked at the telepaths. "Have her finished when I return."

The Mute was escorted out of Sangraal's tent and shown to another, wearing a new black robe over his chest. As the Mute passed through the camp he could make out in the distance through his Force-sight some sort of dig site. He spotted the large metal door, half buried under dirt and the black-robed Sith's careful excavation.

His Sith escorts bid him to enter the new, rectangular white tent that took up a fair amount of space.

"Do not attempt to escape, or we will have to stun you," one of the masked Sith instructed without emotion.

As the Mute nodded and started to enter, the other stopped him.

"Is it true?" the masked man asked. "Are you the man we fought on Corellia?"

The Mute lied and shook his head. He headed into the tent.

There were a few chairs and a desk. A blaster turret had been set up in one corner that occasionally swept the inside area.

"So, I finally have some company, huh?" a rough voice called out.

The Mute turned. The Man was behind some sort of shimmering yellow Force-Field that had been set up in another corner on his left. He looked to be in his early thirties, had a small goatee with stubble on the rest of his face starting to catch up. His hair was cut in a military style with a slight amount of gray on his side burns. His skin was dark beige, and he had a strong, angular looking jaw with a cleft. The one good eye he had was a light blue, on the left. The right was covered by a white eye patch with a smiley face on it. He wore robes with a jungle camouflage pattern on the upper robe, off white on the lower. He was sitting in a cross legged position.

"The name is Elias. Elias Tavin," the man spoke in introduction. "Sangraal tried giving you her special welcome yet?"

The Mute pointed at his throat and shook his head, indicating that he couldn't speak.

"Can't talk, huh?" Elias muttered frowning. He got up.

"Well isn't that just great," he grumbled a bit. "I get stuck in this joint the past three days with no one to speak to and my new cell mate can't speak worth a damn."

The Mute chuckled. He was starting to like him.

Elias looked at him. "Are you one of her new recruits?"

The Mute shook his head. He was no more aligned with Sangraal than he was aligned with the Sith in general.

Tavin frowned again pacing. "Dark Jedi?" he asked.

The Mute shook his head again. Technically he wasn't a Dark Jedi, since he had a Sith master, but he didn't believe in the doctrine, and he was starting to suspect, neither did his master.

"Sith, huh. That's just great," Tavin muttered, before his eye widened and he drew as close to the Force field as he dared.

"Say, you wouldn't happen to be apprenticed to Darth Kitsun, would you?"

The Mute perked up and nodded.

Elias scratched his chin. "Listen, kid, I knew your master during her days as a Jedi. I imagine she isn't here by choice, and if there is anybody at all from the Sith I'd be willing to cooperate with, it would be her. These Philosopher nuts are digging up a vault full of electrum and I heard Sangraal's going to try and turn the Blood Hound to the Dark Side fully. I know him better than she does and I can tell you conclusively that she's going to fail. He'll kill everybody in the camp if he finds us. He's an animal. He sabotaged the SOC operation just to lure Kitsun here, when he found out her base of operations was so close by in the sector."

The Mute nodded. He knew all of this already.

"Okay, then," Elias went on quietly, lifting up his eye patch and pulling out a small, metal orb from his empty socket. "This here is a tiny interference generator. It was crafted by our Research and Development Corps. One press here," he said, showing him a small indentation on the orb. "will shut down all electronics within a kilometer radius for about twelve minutes, including the Force-Field keeping me here."

The Mute gestured to him and the shimmering field.

"What am I doing here?" Tavin asked, understanding the gesture. "Let's just say I made the mistake of being somehow able to resist Lady Sangraal's 'conversion' technique."

The Mute made a gesture like he was kissing somebody.

"No. That's the interrogation process. The Conversion technique is when she infects you with her cells, turning you into a 'Knight of Sangraal' I'd have been turned into some sort of thrall of hers if she had succeeded. And believe me, once you are under HER thumb, there is no getting out of it unless you die," he answered. "They're gonna experiment on me and figure out how I am able to resist. A lot of it involves the twisting of your will to hers. Lucky me," he muttered. "Listen kid, you got about ten minutes to try and warn your master—somehow. I'm gonna activate this thing and then we'll try and make a break for it. I don't know why Sangraal escorted you here under armed guard, but there's no way you can afford to stay in her clutches for long. Get me?"

The Mute nodded. He needed to find some way to create a distraction, and soon.

Unfortunately, in a few moments, the decision would be taken completely out of his hands.

The Blood Hound had been following the beacon with his equipment and a full contingent of Jedi Shadows. He had discarded it however, after his sensation of pain had begun to ratchet up. It always got worse when dark siders were near. It started as a nail in his lungs and chest, and then a knife, and a screw twisting itself in his chest as he drew closer to the source of darkness. He tolerated it all of course: An ordinary man would be shrieking in agony. The pain seemed to get worse every day, and yet he kept finding new strength to tolerate it, which in turn increased the pain still.

Part of his strength came from hatred at his master's betrayal. If it could be given a voice, his hatred would have drowned the sound of a star burning. He wasn't going to lie to himself about it. Hate was the locus of his control. Hatred of his master and all others who joined the darkness was what allowed him to stay alive after his heart had disappeared, boiling as the light saber had dissolved it.

He still remembered the first physical sensation of the pain. Interestingly, it had been, for a microsecond, a simple itching sensation that had quickly turned into a blaze of fire that spread through his lungs. The first thing he heard was his own scream of shock and torment as his master punished him for doing what she had trained him to do: Eliminate threats to the Order and the Republic.

He had assumed death would claim him a moment later.

As with many things, he had turned out to be wrong.

The Blood Hound walked slower as he spotted light at the end of his path, faint, but he knew it was where he was supposed to be. He signaled to the shadows behind him to get out their weapons.

All that mattered was Kitsun. He was so close to destroying her and avenging the betrayal that he was to the point of being willing to overlook any other dark siders he found.

He whispered to the masked Shadow in black and white robes that was the closest to him. "Take the others and flank this position. You'll know when to fire."

The shadows nodded and dispersed, taking alternate paths in the sewer tunnels. Two remained next to him for back up.

The Blood Hound pulled out his cane and strode forward. All he wanted was Kitsun. He would give whoever was hiding her one chance and no more to surrender the traitor—and in turn he would give them a thirty second head start.

The Blood hound entered the cavern and the pain in his chest rocketed to stratospheric levels of agony. He let the pain fuel him. He would need it.

"KITSUN!" he roared. "I know you're here! Face me!"

Sith Philosophers instantly decloaked all around him causing his two body guards to draw their lightsabers. The philosophers in turn drew their own, the color of their blades not the standard red, but acidic looking versions of Jedi colors.

"Well, you showed up earlier than I expected," Sangraal spoke seductively, sauntering forward to the Blood Hound, hips swaying gently. "Truth be told, I would have been disappointed if you hadn't taken the initiative."

"Sith Philosophers. I see you are still leading them, Abomination. I take it Darth Kashtu is still incapacitated by the bomb the Jedi sent her?" The Blood Hound asked.

Sangraal blew some strands of hair out of her face. "Kashtu is doing just fine. I was sent here to make sure there were no mistakes."

"I'm surprised you did not eliminate her when she was at her weakest."

"We are not that kind of Sith. We don't turn on our own like animals."

"Lies. Your order will disintegrate eventually, just like every other version of the Sith that thought they could take down the Jedi," The Blood Hound dismissed, his skull like wolf mask deathly pale even in near darkness.

"Your masters have lied to you, Warrand Ashtee. The Philosophers do not wish to destroy the Jedi, we seek to reform them, to end their monopoly on how it is taught by offering an alternative. Eventually, we hope to work with them, bring a true balance between light and dark, where one no longer competes against the other, but instead coexists," Sangraal explained.

The shadows behind the Blood Hound snickered at the idea.

"Even were such a thing possible, I would not allow it. I would kill every single Jedi master who wanted to make peace with you," the Blood Hound replied flatly and without mirth to his disguised voice."

Sangraal smiled and walked up to him, than around him. "Why, Blood Hound, I'm surprised you are so hostile to the idea of light and dark in tandem, considering the Curse of Sion is what saved your life," she cooed, tracing her finger across his back as she walked around him, privately noting that her nerve attunement abilities weren't working on him. The shadows let her, knowing full well their weapons were not going to be any use.

With a stab of pity, she realized he couldn't feel pleasure. Or joy. Not anymore.

"You were destined to be the next Darth Sion. Tell me, what made you reject that destiny?"

"None of your damn business," he snarled. "I'm not even here for you, vain creature. I seek Darth Kitsun. I know you have her. Bring her to me."

"That's all you want?" she asked, drawing closer to him. "What's your beef with her?"

"Bring her to me. Her companions as well," the Blood Hound repeated. "I am losing my patience. Bring her to me, and I will forget about you and your cohorts."

Sangraal frowned. "I'm afraid there's a problem. You see, I've already made a promise to her apprentice to spare them—"

"He's ALIVE?!" the Blood Hound shrieked.

"You know, Hound, you should get some therapy for that anger of yours. That isn't healthy. Not at that level anyway. "

"Bring her apprentice to me as well."

"I can't. I've already claimed him for the Sith Philosophers, and I am loath to give up what I claim," Sangraal answered firmly. "Whatever your vendetta is, I'm afraid you will have to let it pass."

"You are not my boss, schutta," the Blood Hound hissed, gripping his cane tightly, the pain fueling his rage. "Bring her to me. I will not ask again."

"No," Sangraal replied, sensing the terrible heat of his emotional fury. "I don't break my deals."

His cane separated.

"Kill them," he snapped to his hidden forces. "Kill them now."

The entire cavern erupted into a fire fight from all sides as the Shadows came out from ambush points in other entrances they had cut into with their sabers.

Sangraal barely had time to get her own black lightsaber out before the Blood Hound was all over her, bashing his weapon ruthlessly against hers "GIVE ME KITSSUUUUNNNN!" he shrieked at the top of his lungs.

Sangraal defended expertly with her Ataru fighting style, evading his blows or parrying them as necessary.

"When I wanted you to pay attention to me, this wasn't 'quite' what I had in mind but I can deal. Show me what the great and terrible Blood Hound can do," she joked, though inwardly she was rather upset now that she finally understood Cambul's gambit. Cambul had been the Jedi's top weapons manufacturer once, with a fiendish level of intelligence. With that fiend intelligence, he had successfully manipulated both sides into killing each other simply by walking into her grasp, dangling a Caltrop in front of her like a damn carrot, all the while obscuring the actual reason the Blood Hound had been pursuing his team. But it could not be that simple. It was never that simple. Not with Marek, who since having been reborn as a cyborg, had continually risen to be a major headache to whatever side he felt like annoying.

_We're going to have to end up killing him one of these days. He's too clever. Too delusional and too clever, _she thought as she swiped away at the Blood Hound, whose body guards had fallen within the first seconds of shooting.

"You WILL give me Kitsun!" he shouted, driving her back.

"She is the source of your pain, I gather?" Sangraal asked with a flash of insight.

"GIVE ME HER!" he shouted, bringing his cane weapon down so hard he managed to drive the barefoot Sith to her knees.

"Old girlfriend?" she asked.

The Blood Hound snarled, Force Pushing her so hard, he could hear the bones in her body snap as she was driven deep into the rocky surface.

But he himself was flung back by her power as she pulled her broken and twisted frame from the deep crater the push had made, her body knitting itself back together in seconds as though nothing had happened.

"Let me guess," she trailed stretching and giggling a little as she watched him get up. "It was a case of 'Hot for Teacher' wasn't it?"

He separated his small, flat light dagger from the main weapon, the blue blade sprouting.

Sangraal eyed the blade. "I LOVE flat light saber blades! Is that an antique?!" she asked excitedly. "You ARE full of surprises!"

She reacted quickly during the chaos to block the slashing motion he made with the dagger, then the smashing motion he made with his cane repeatedly.

"She was cute, wasn't she?" Sangraal asked. "Don't worry; we've all been there, Warrand. It is nothing to be embarrassed over, really. We've all ran into the 'too hot to keep our hands off of' situation in the Jedi order. She must have broken your heart something fierce."

He roared and penetrated her guard, slashing her face with the dagger.

Sangraal stumbled back and smiled again as the wound healed.

"Rude. Anybody ever tell you how poor you are at conversation?"

He roared and charged at her again.

"You know, Blood Hound," she began, easily holding off his attacks she used her shape shifting abilities to increase the muscle mass in her arms. "You are breaking just about every single rule in the Jedi handbook with that rage in your heart. Are you sure you're still one of them?"

He switched to Shii-Cho style, throwing her off temporarily. "I will not be lectured to by a Sith!"

"Not too late to change sides," she replied casually, sensing she wasn't getting through. "I'm just saying. You'll be a hypocrite as long as you live. What should it profit a person to win the battle but lose their soul?"

"As long as I'm the one standing over Kitsun in the end, I don't give a DAMN what anyone thinks. Sith or Jedi."

"Really?" she sneered, losing her patience with him. "What will you do after she is dead?" she asked, swiping at him to make him back off.

"I will go on to destroy anyone who leaves the Jedi. Any who think there is another way. Including everyone here. If Jedi try to stop me, they will die also."

"I see," she replied, finding herself in yet another saber-lock with him, his strength was impressive, but replied on cold brutality to function. "Have you considered the possibility that when the source of your pain is dispatched, you will lose your miraculous ability to feed on it? Think, Hound: I suspect your pain is not physical."

"This isn't a miracle," he hissed. "It's a curse. I suffer every day, and I WILL send her to hell for that!"

"Hmmm," she remarked sadly, realizing the depths to which he'd sunken. "Forgive me. I hadn't realized you were insane." There was no turning him to either side of the Force. There was no reaching him. The Blood Hound had become the worst kind of Force User. He was one without ideals. Lower then a Dark Jedi who killed for money.

Sangraal decided to put him out of his misery.

"It seems I was mistaken about you having a future, Warrand. Don't worry, I'll make it quick. If nothing else, your neurons will make an interesting point of reference during absorption," she said, her stomach starting to split open as tentacles came out, with spikes of what looked like bones jutting out as the rest of her devolved in form to a multi tongued, multi-mouthed, and multi legged monstrosity that rushed down, flinging it's blade at him.

Darth Kitsun had heard the fighting outside. The Sith guarding their tent had abandoned them when the shooting started, having far more serious things to worry about.

She turned to Cambul. "I'll say this for you, cyborg, I couldn't have planned it better myself. You created a warzone without really lifting a finger.

Cambul nodded in acknowledgement. "A sinner's world is a tinderbox. All it needs is a match."

Darth Victus rose up, his dark armor gleaming as he angrily approached Cambul.

"Alright, Marek, what's your game?" he asked sticking a finger against the mutilated cyborg's chest. "You've had ulterior motives ever since you brought us here. How are we to escape?!"

"There is a will for all ways. A time to destroy is nearly upon us, but I cannot leave without my precious prize," Cambul answered, gesturing to Anton, who helped The High Roller up.

"And what prize might that be?" The High Roller sneered with a blink of his violet eyes. "It had better be worth it for getting my clothes in all this dirt and mud. I'm completely unpresentable."

"This is why I ended your tutelage, Roller: You're far too vain for your own good," Kitsun snorted. "We must find my student, before we leave."

"You are awfully invested in him, aren't you?" the High Roller questioned, getting up close to the completely veiled Sith Lady. "Why is he so valuable? What have you not told us?"

"He is a good student. It would be years before I could locate another with his kind of loyalty, especially given how previous investments of my time have been…fruitless," she concluded diplomatically, but with a firm undertone in her vocal synthesizer that warned she was not to be questioned further on the matter.

The High Roller cocked his head to one side, let out a grumble and wiped what muck he could off of his previously white clothes and started out of the tent. "Let's find him then, the sooner we find him, the sooner we get out of here."

Darth Kitsun followed with the others close behind.

Explosions and screaming greeted them as they made their way through the giant cavern, Jedi Shadows and Sith Philosophers fighting each other viciously, sometimes with their bare hands. When a Shadow or a philosopher noticed them and tried to attack, Kitsun would either strangle them with the Force, or they would be hurled backward by Cambul's admittedly impressive telekinetic abilities.

A Force wave from a Shadow fighting a Sith went wide and slammed into the top of the cavern.

Cambul looked at it and chuckled. "Ah, right on time. My devotions rewards are like the stars in the sky."

"What do you mean?" Kitsun shouted over the fighting, as she hurled two more attackers back with a lightning-push combination.

"My ability to prophecy tells me that that force blast damaged the structural integrity of this entire cavern, which is located underneath a city water reservoir. With the right amount of power, another damaging attack will cause a flood of epic proportions to wash away the filth and the sinners! Isn't that lovely?!" he asked, breaking a shadows neck with a Force choke while the High Roller and Victus kept others at bay with lightning.

Kitsun once again started to pay attention to the mad cyborg. If he could prophecy…then had he known how all of this would turn out from the very beginning? It was still smacking of convenience that the man and Anton just happened to be on the planet when Kitsun was the most in need of assistance from the Blood Hound. Along with people with abilities just convenient enough to counter one another at the right moment, at the right place. How much had he known? Did he know enough to subtly manipulate events in his favor, so they would be forced to bring him along?

If so, Cambul's allegiance was ultimately to himself.

She'd heard tales of the man, back when he was still a Jedi. The details of his birth alone had been cause for alarm. (Rumored to be a product of incest between first cousins) But he was absolutely brilliant, and a fiendish weapons designer for the Jedi, before they were comfortable having someone like that on their payroll. He'd supposedly been pursuing the secrets of a kill virus that would infect only Dark Siders, trying to win the struggle against the Sith through bio warfare. He'd supposedly given up his research however to pursue pacifism at the behest of his mentor, only to find that in the end his mentor had not taken to her own doctrine with nearly as much zeal as he had. When she'd turned to the Dark Side, and slew all her followers for refusing to join the Sith Philosophers, Cambul had been among the first of her victims, most of his body destroyed in the fire she'd started in their enclave.

At least, that was what she had heard. But Cambul had always been supposedly a little eccentric. She shuddered inwardly at how much his story—being betrayed by his master and left to die—mirrored her own story with the Blood Hound.

Ironically, despite his obvious delusional state, he seemed to be dealing with it much better than her own padawan had.

"We could drown, you fool!" Victus shouted.

As a whole squad of shadows decloaked in front of them, Anton's eyes flashed bright orange.

"Turn on each other," he hissed with a metallic echo to his voice.

The shadows screamed and started hacking themselves apart with their lightsabers. Kitsun nearly vomited as she saw one sliced in half lengthwise.

"Oh ye of little faith," Cambul chuckled, stretching out his hand at a pair of masked Sith that blocked his way.

Green electricity flooded from his fingertips, hitting the Sith and instantly tearing the life from their bodies. Kitsun reeled back as she felt only the presence of the light in the corpses, as vines and plants began springing out of them.

"Jedi Lightning?" she asked Cambul in shock and amazement.

"The correct term is Emerald Fire, even though it looks like electricity," Cambul replied, hitting another approaching Sith with his strange power. "The Jedi Council thought me some kind of freak of nature during the days when I was whole."

"With good reason," Kitsun replied as she finally began to sense the presence of her Student. He was making his way towards her, along with another more familiar presence.

Finally, the group encountered The Mute, right in the midst of breaking a shadows neck, while a man in camouflage patterned robes Force pushed someone into a portable generator, shocking them to death. He had an eye patch, and Kitsun had never forgotten his face. The pair had apparently escaped during the chaos.

"Student!" She called out, swiping aside more attackers with her telekinesis and rushing to him as he got off a lightning bolt at yet another shadow, covering the man with the eye patch.

"About damn time you showed up!" Elias shouted. "We need our weapons!"

Ignoring him, Kitsun examined the Mute by clutching his face. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" she asked.

The Mute shook his head, surprised by her concern.

The Sith and the Shadows were focusing on each other, elsewhere at the moment. This allowed the entire group to duck into a nearby tent, where amazingly, all of their weapons, were, just sitting on a fold up table.

"No friggin way," Victus breathed in amazement.

"The power of prophecy," Cambul replied, tapping his skull, having sensed where everyone would go and how it would lead them the entire time. "Gather your wares. We must struggle through this den of vipers. None must be allowed to flee the wrath to come."

As the group picked up their weapons, Kitsun turned to Elias, a former colleague and now ally by necessity. "A pity our reunion is not under better circumstances."

"Same here, Crysanth," Elias replied. "We need to stop the Blood Hound. He's out of control. The moment he picked up your scent, he went on the warpath."

"The thing I don't get is this," Victus rumbled, adjusting his plate armor, his visor turning to Elias, "He's obviously fallen to the Dark Side. You know it, I know it. So why in blazes would the Council tolerate his presence?"

"It's part of a new policy," Elias grumbled, "Any Dark Jedi not actively opposing the Order is to be coerced into helping us through bribery, extortion, or simply allowed to roam free so long as they take care of the Sith along the way."

"Has the Jedi Council lost their damn mind?" Anton asked in disbelief.

Elias shot him a look. "Say what you will. That policy has reduced our headache with Dark Siders by at least nineteen percent."

"But at what cost?" Victus asked. "See, this is why I left the Order. I didn't know who the enemy was anymore."

"The council is slowly starting to realize that if they want to stop the Sith from taking over the Galaxy, they're gonna have to get their hands dirty," Elias answered. "Thing is, now it is becoming a problem, at least with the Blood Hound."

The Mute picked up the Cane Saber his master had loaned out to him. He gave an experimental twirl before activating it. The black blade with a red aura hissed out and The Mute smiled. He liked this weapon the more he held it.

Darth Kitsun spotted a dead Sith not far away from the table. He appeared to have been shot and his blood was everywhere. He still had his lightsaber. She ran over and took it. The fighting outside had increased in severity. Soon the tide of battle would come back to this area.

Anton picked up his weapon, a double bladed lightsaber whose hilt was the length of a regular one, and made seemingly of blown glass with stripes of colors swirling on the inside around the mechanisms.

Cambul picked up his crucifix and hit a small section of it that went inward. A viridian light foil blade shot out.

"The sword has gone a long time without tasting the flesh of the wicked," he remarked. "I can sense its hunger."

"Wow, Cambul, you're just five kilo's of crazed frak in a one kilo bag, huh?" Victus asked.

"At least I'll outlive you," Cambul rejoined.

Victus went silent at that, and they all left the tent.

Kitsun was beside the Mute. He would not leave her sight again, too much was at stake.

"Did Sangraal hurt you?" Kitsun asked as they trailed behind the others.

The Mute shook his head, but even he was not entirely sure what had occurred between them.

"Good," Kistun replied.

Cambul caught her question. "The Abomination knows thy secret, Dark Shepherdess."

Kitsun looked at Cambul and then the Mute. "How does she know?"

"It was not thy student's fault, if thou were wondering. Sangraal's neural interrogation methods are almost impossible to resist."

The Mute nodded at this, still feeling the giddy pleasure at Sangraal's touch.

"Anton, I presume that thou have the little plastic container with the Jedi Alchemy runes on it I gave you earlier?" Cambul asked.

"Uh, yeah, Master," Anton answered. "But…um…what's it for?"

The cyborg chuckled. "All in good time, my boy."

The group advanced and soon found themselves near the center of the camp. The Sith and the Jedi's battle was still going in full swing. Parts of the cavern were on fire, and most of the camp was burning to the ground.

And at the center of it all, was the Blood Hound battling some hideous monster with multiple mouths and limbs. He sliced and battered away at it, only for the parts to reassemble themselves.

"Is that…Sangraal?" Kitsun asked in horror, pointing at the monster.

"Now the Dark Shepherdess knows why I refer to her as an Abomination," Cambul spoke, slicing away at a Sith that got too close.

"And you _left my student alone with her?!" _Kitsun hissed, voice dripping wrath.

"Don't be such a baby. I was reasonably certain he would not die," Cambul placated, striding forward, "Anton, I would prefer if the wolves and jackals not notice us."

Anton's eyes glowed as he reduced their presence in the Force to a microscopic level. With all the chaos, no one would notice.

"Now, Anton, open the container," Cambul spoke as he got closer to the Blood Hound and Darth Sangraal.

Anton took out the little plastic container from his jacket that was covered in strange runes as they approached. No one could see or feel them, least of all the two monsters locked in battle.

Cambul activated his light foil again and, when Sangraal got too close, he sliced a piece off and held the squirming piece telekinetically, depositing it into Anton's container, who frantically sealed it afterward.

The Monster swatted the Blood Hound into a fire as she roared in pain. The hideous creature wheeled around, looking for who had taken the piece. Anton and the others, still cloaked by his abilities, slowly backed away as the creature advanced, sniffing for something.

"Can she…it…smell us?" Kitsun asked Anton as they backed away.

"As if we want to find out," he replied.

The monster fixed multiple eyes on the spot where they were and they started to run. The creature was unexpectedly quick, darting over multiple combatants as it chased them, spider like and whale like at the same time, multiple heads with flytrap jaws snapping away at Jedi who got in it's way.

Kitsun ripped some chunks of the cavern ceiling down, where it crashed into the monster at high speed.

Even further in the distance, Kitsun was sure she heard the Blood Hound screaming for her.

Blind panic ruled them as the monster reverted, twisting and collapsing in on itself into the default form of Darth Sangraal, who huffed in displeasure as she pursued them calmly. The group soon reached a dead end in the cavern.

"There is nowhere to run," she called out as they ran. "I memorized the routes of the sewer and aqueduct system."

The Mute stood forward, activating his master's lightsaber.

"Really, dude? Seriously?" she asked. "You just saw me turn into a horrible, slobbering horror film monster and you want to fight?"

The Mute nodded.

Sangraal smiled, fixing the slick red spheres that served as her eyeballs onto him. "Now I remember why I like you. No fear."

Her black lightsaber activated. "I would 'prefer' not to injure you. But I will if I must. Surrender now and our previous deal will hold."

The Mute, instead of trying to fight her in a duel, concentrated on the ceiling. He summoned his rage, his frustration, at the past few hours and used his will on the ceiling with all his might.

It didn't budge. The Mute collapsed to his knees after a few moments, exhausted.

Sangraal smirked and walked past him.

"Points for trying," she said, rubbing her hand playfully against his scalp. She approached the group.

"You can either join me or leave. Either way, I'm getting the piece of me back that you took."

Cambul chuckled as a few drops of water fell on her.

"What-?" she said, holding out her hand.

More drops hit.

She looked up, and saw the tell tale, hair-line cracks spreading, and more and more water coming down.

She wheeled around and stared at the Mute. "Clever," was all she said.

The Mute smirked back.

The ceiling started to give, and the combined might of the group telekinetically lifted the Sith Lady up and slammed her at high speed into a wall embedding her deep into the cavern wall as water came crashing down from above.


	5. Rabid Dogs

The group ran frantically.

"This way, sheep!" cried Cambul as he led them. The water was rushing everywhere sweeping people still in the middle of duels to a wet and dark demise. The team suddenly spotted a narrow path that had recently been excavated, leading upwards into the cavern. They could see the opening to a large tunnel.

They wasted no time scrambling up it. Kitsun slammed anybody that attempted to follow them with Force lightning, even going so far as to electrify the immediate area of water that was filling up around them. The whole camp was submerged by this point as they clambered forward.

"And lo, the way is narrow, with death behind ye, and sin around ye and darkness if front of ye, but only the narrow path is the true one, the certain one," Cambul mumbled as he led them.

"Do you 'never' tire of your incessant babble?" Darth Victus asked, causing the Mute to snicker in spite of the lethal situation.

"Never," Cambul replied. "A preacher must have some way of making people listen with ears that don't hear, and if he sounds like a badass while doing it, what's the harm?"

Darth Victus was silent as he considered Cambul's answer.

"I have to admit," he said suddenly. "That is a very good reason."

The team reached the tunnel, and the Mute turned one more time to see if anything was behind him.

His Force sight allowed him to catch something moving in the water. A woman, swimming.

It was Sangraal.

The Mute broke into a run, and the others, on instinct, picked up speed as well.

"It seems the Abomination doesn't take a hint," Cambul remarked as they ran for their lives.

Soon they were deep in another tunnel system.

"Where are we?" The High Roller asked.

"This tunnel is what remains of Darth Sangraal's underground fortress network," Anton explained.

"Centuries past, this whole planet was her fiefdom."

"Until Ajunta Pall attacked, then this place became a backwater," Cambul added. "Be silent everyone. Sangraal will not give up easily."

Kitsun was stayed closer to the Mute as the group made their way through the twisting tunnel network with almost no lighting except Cambul's light foil, casting everything in a sickly green hue.

"We are no longer alone," Anton whispered.

A Jedi leapt out of the darkness with a silver lightsaber, His robes were a light brown, and he had a symbol depicting three arrows twisting on themselves in a triangle shape branded into his forehead. He was a young human, with a completely shaved head.

"Surrender!" he yelled.

Cambul's response was to flick his blade through the unprepared Jedi's guard, piercing him in the torso. The Jedi gasped, falling dead.

Elias went forward and slammed Cambul against the tunnel wall. "What the hell, Marek?!" The Jedi demanded to know.

"Look upon his forehead one-eye, he is not one of yours."

Elias cursed, and knealt down to examine the body, touching the forehead.

"Holy…" The eye patch wearing Jedi trailed off. "Cambul's right. He's not one of mine. He's a recycle."

"A recycle?" Kitsun asked.

"He's a Dark Jedi that's had his memory wiped and his personality reprogrammed," Elias answered. "We thought it would give the fallen a second chance to atone for their crimes but it was eventually ruled out by the council, for being akin to slavery."

"That's because it is," Victus muttered. "The Order's going down a dark direction."

Elias got up, dusting off his camouflage robes. "What do you expect, Sith. The Order has fought this war against your kind for years. Did you honestly think we weren't going to go for the kill if you pushed us enough?"

"If you Jedi would stop telling every single Force user alive how to use your gift, than you probably wouldn't be in so much trouble with every other sensitive in the Galaxy," Victus replied.

"Someone has to be responsible," Elias argued. "Because when you aren't, people get hurt."

"I totally agree, Jedi. Maybe your order should take some responsibility and admit that your own extremes have played just as much a part in tearing the galaxy to pieces as the Sith's excesses have," Victus replied.

"Victus, Elias, this debate has been argued by dumber men and women than us," Kitsun interrupted. "Let's not sink to their level by joining in such a pointless debate. Both sides' ideals are ultimately short sighted and flawed."

The two looked at her.

"Agreed," they both said, and continued walking.

As they went forward, the Mute turned to Kitsun and made a whip-cracking gesture.

"We will get Whips as soon as we extricate ourselves from our own predicament," Kitsun answered. "I must admit, I am curious that you would be concerned for her."

The Mute shrugged, trying to act as if it wasn't a big deal, yet part of him badly wanted to rescue her. He kept flashing back with an increasing amount of discomfort to when Sangraal had taken her shape, kissing him.

In fact, if he concentrated, he could almost swear he felt her mind, shattered and vicious, in the back of his skull.

"There will be more recycles up ahead," Cambul said. "And whatever is left of the Sith Philosopher's forces will surely be here, in the network."

The team suddenly activated their lightsabers, now constantly on guard.

The Team moved forward steadily, until they found an exit tunnel to their left.

At the other end appeared to be a large purification chamber that had long ago been rendered inactive. Tell tale signs of older structures that seemed out of place compared to the machinery around them dotted the large chamber. To Kitsun's trained eye, it looked like the shattered remains of some crude temple that had been built in secret, long ago. The Chamber was half a kilometer, in length and width, with a circular shape. The running lights were barely functioning, making it hard to see.

"We 'are' almost out, right?" the High Roller asked.

"We must simply cross this expanse. The oasis of salvation lays ahead," Cambul answered, hopping down to the chamber floor. "Move quietly."

As the team moved, Kitsun began to pick up more impressions. There were people here, waiting, watching.

As Kitsun passed a pillar, another Recycle leapt out, this one of the Kel-Dor species.

Kitsun gripped the Jedi as the others spun around, breaking his neck with the Force.

More recycles poured out of the ruins and soon the entire teams backs were to each other.

The Blood Hound Burst from the chamber ceiling, landing on the floor and cracking it. His robes were in tatters and he looked dripping wet from the cavern flood.

"You WILL NOT ESCAPE ME!" he roared, making a dead charge directly at his former master, and the rest of the recycles followed suit. The Mute found himself fending off attacks from three different Jedi with his blade, with Elias protecting his back, with his own yellow blade.

Kitsun brought her lightsaber to bear as the Hound's solid metal rod bashed against it repeatedly and savagely.

"Warrand, stop this!" Kitsun shouted as their weapons locked, each trying to use their strength to overpower the other. "This is madness!"

"Not if I win, it isn't," The Blood Hound snarled, Force pushing her away, catching her in mid-air and then smacking her against a pillar telekinetically.

Kitsun swooned in pain as the fight raged around her. She saw the Blood Hound approaching, rod gripped tightly in his hand, so much so that she could see his hand bleeding.

"You've lost it. Completely and utterly," she breathed, struggling to get up.

"I am only what you made me," he replied. "Look upon your work, mighty Sith, and despair."

He raised the rod…

The Mute yelled and tackled the Blood Hound from the side, wrapping both hands around the masked warriors throat and wringing it, slamming the Hound's head into the floor again and again savagely as the Hound struggled to free himself. Darth Victus saw the Mute about to be attacked from behind by a Recycle and charged forward, brutally plowing through enemies with his light shield, their torso's burning away as they were hit by the lightsaber-like energy of his device. He reached the Recycle just in time, shoving his flat orange blade into the Recycle's head, just as the Mute wheeled around and blasted the Recycle with lightning.

The Blood Hound threw the Mute off and blasted Victus back with a Force push. He scrambled for Kitsun again, desperately swiping his light dagger at her, only for the Mute to hurl him away from her with the Force.

Enraged, he rose, spewing curses from his mouth as he pointed his Dagger at the blind Sith.

"You. I will smash your skull in front of her," he snarled.

The Mute grimaced, activating Kitsun's cane saber.

The Blood Hound charged as the Mute did so, going so far as to cut through his own men if they got in the way as they slammed into each other with their weapons, separated, and then exchanging a vicious serious of chops and stabs with the sole aim of killing the other instantly. Both were driven by nothing except pure, unrelenting rage as they slashed and stabbed with brute force against the other.

The Mute allowed his hatred to drive him as he parried a stab by the Hound's light dagger to the side, throwing a punch at the same time. The Blood Hound staggered back, before snarling and charging again, this time getting through the Mute's guard and backhanding him.

Anton, who had just finished killing his forth recycle, turned and spotted the duel. He charged, his eyes flashing orange.

"You!" he hissed, voice dropping an octave as he drew the Blood Hound's attention. "Stab yourself in the head with your dagger."

The Blood Hound stiffened for a moment, the arm that held his blue blade twitching as it inched to his head—and then he chucked the dagger into a surprised Anton's ribcage.

Anton dropped to his knees, mouth open as much in pain as in shock as he stared at the Blood Hound.

"H-how-?" he trailed off.

"My hatred of Kitsun overrides my desire to obey you," he answered.

Anton collapsed to the ground as the Blood Hound pulled the dagger out with his mind, summoning it back to his hand. Anton started to convulse a second later.

He fixed both his weapons on the Mute. "Now, where were we?"

The Mute snarled as he allowed his hatred to cross a threshold he normally preferred not to cross.

The arcs of electricity that erupted from his hands were blue at first, and then it became a hideous blood red as the Mute threw all of his anger at his opponent.

The Blood Hound tried to absorb the electricity with his own hands, trying to use Jedi techniques to dissipate the energy, but by now he was so given over to his own hatred that the Light Side had long ago become a dim memory. He held…for about two seconds.

And then his trick failed. The arcs coursed over him, and he shrieked as he felt a new level of agony as his own mechanical heart burst in his chest and he erupted in flames. He collapsed, his curse still not allowing him death, as _once again, _he attempted to crawl over to Kitsun, still on fire, hands crisp skeletons of what they once were. His rod had melted partially onto his right arm, covering it in rapidly cooling metal and third degree burns. The mask on the right side had partially fallen away, burnt also, revealing a hideous, corpse-like white eye.

The Mute stared at his foe in amazement, and not without a sudden measure of respect for his sheer tenacity as he hurled him away at full strength from Kitsun with the Force, clear across the other end of the chamber. When the Blood Hound landed he remained inert, his curse having been temporarily overwhelmed by his foe's onslaught.

The Mute sighed in relief at having saved his master.

But he wasn't done. His power had crossed into unknown territory and he tapped the Dark Side further, directing his power at the swarming mass of recycles as they begin to advance on an already grievously injured High Roller, who seemed to have been slashed multiple times on the torso by lightsabers, along with Victus, who'd fared worse after being hurled into a crowd of recycles. His plate armor was scorched and burnt, and his right arm, the one with the saber-shield, had been severed at the elbow. Anton still lay where he fell, his breathing shallow but steady. Cambul was flicking his blade this way and that along with Elias, the only two still un-injured, but with the number of recycles pouring out from the ruins, they would soon be dead along with everyone else.

His power worked slowly at first, and then as he forced himself to go farther into the Dark Side then he'd ever dared, the veritable army of recycled Jedi screamed in pain as they were lifted off the ground by the Dark Side, their limbs and rib cages snapping, necks breaking, bodies pummeled by invisible fists. Wispy, red projections of the Mute's body suddenly appeared, violently and ruthlessly beating and strangling the Recycles, pulling them apart by grabbing limbs and yanking.

The Mute screamed, partly out of exertion, partly out of horror at what he was doing.

The entire group of recycles dropped to the ground, twisted like pretzels or torn like beef jerky. The projections of himself faded from existence.

The Mute collapsed to his knees, vomiting in disgust at what he'd done. He'd killed slaves. That's all a recycle was.

He hated that. He'd been a slave himself at one time, though even he had had more free will then these…victims had after the Jedi Shadows were done with them.

It was days like this that made him question how dissimilar he and Whips actually were. Perhaps the reason they…got along…so well was that they were ultimately cut from the same cloth. He knew that if Whips were here she'd be pleased at his act. She might even try to…reward him on the spot.

Kitsun, in the meanwhile had finally overcome her stunned shock at what the Mute had just done. He was far more powerful than even she had suspected. Not everybody could use the art of Projected Fighting on the first try, let alone on so many at once.

As she felt the pain rolling off him, she rose and went to him.

"It's alright," she said quietly. "You did what you had to, Student." She placed a hand on his shoulder.

He flinched, pulling away and causing her to flinch at the same time. He rose, steadied his breathing and forced himself to move.

Both the High Roller and Elias were giving him funny looks. Cambul moved to tend to the fallen Anton.

Elias turned to his old acquaintance. "Alright Kitsun, what the hell is this kid? Some kind of Sith experiment?"

"He is my student," she answered.

The group suddenly heard a clapping behind them. They turned around; all of them already knowing who was behind them before they saw.

Darth Sangraal clapped thunderously, along with the squads of masked Sith behind her.

"Bravo!" she complimented. "Encore! Encore!"

"Now, about your student… hand him over and you all live. I'm trying to be accommodating," she said, going into business mode.

"Why, so you could experiment on him?" Elias asked, scowling. "Like you were gonna do to me?"

"You were a special case Elias," Sangraal answered. "And what pray tell, were YOU hoping to do with the boy, Lady Kitsun? His gift should be shared with all those who use the Dark Side."

High Roller coughed. "What…what gift?"

"You mean they don't know, either?" Sangraal mocked. "They don't know you've been training a Caltrop?"

Everyone stared. The Mute stared also, even though he wasn't sure what that meant.

"Is it true?" Victus asked.

"Yes," Kitsun said. "It is."

Elias grimaced as he stared at the Mute. "Well isn't that just great. A damned Caltrop, right under the Order's nose."

The High Roller forced himself up. He was staggering from his wounds. "You knew you had a Caltrop all this time, and you didn't say anything?!"

"It wasn't your business. It was my own task, and I was seeing to it," Kitsun replied calmly.

The Mute raised an eyebrow.

She stared at him. "Student, I wanted to tell you…but I didn't want you to think I was just using you for my own ends. I wanted to guide you properly, make sure you were trained to think for yourself, free of dogmatic adherence, the way I should have trained Warrand."

"But you still haven't told him anything, Kitsun," Sangraal interrupted, approaching the Mute. "A Caltrop is someone born with a natural attunement to the Dark Side. They can use it as much as they want, however they choose, and as long as they feel like it, without being driven to the…extremes…that other Sith are so infamous for," Sangraal concluded. "Most people using the Dark have to maintain an extremely strict mental discipline not to become like the bloodthirsty savages that ruled the old Sith Empire. It's something I myself had to overcome, and I imagine your Master still struggles with that sort of discipline, am I right?" she asked, approaching further. "You have an incredible gift. Most Caltrops are never found, or they are co-opted by the Jedi for their own purposes, as Elias is almost certainly contemplating now. The reason they are called Caltrops is because they make people who believe so fervently that people who use the Dark Side are inherently evil stumble in their belief. They also cause those who believe that in order to master such power that they have to be an animal all the time a similar crisis of faith."

"You don't survive like the Order has without spotting opportunity," Elias replied. "And the boy is dangerous without the right sort to guide him."

Sangraal shot him a look. "The Jedi would simply hide him away, or study him like a lab rodent, or anyone of a hundred different things, like turning him into a weapon to kill other Dark Force users. The Sith Philosophers on the other hand, would study his gift to figure out how to gift all sensitives with the Dark Side, make it truly an ally, instead of the sweet, empowering poison it has always been," Sangraal countered. "Granite Eyes, whatever Kitsun intends for you, it surly isn't as ambitious or as well intentioned. And I'm being honest with you, as opposed to Kitsun, who even now, seeks to conceal her goals." She held out her hand to the Mute. "Come with us. We can help you realize your true destiny. Your gift is too important to be squandered by the recluse who has trained you. I can show you how to control your gift in ways you never dreamed of."

"Don't listen to her, Student," Kitsun spoke, feeling the anxiety in him. "Any benefit she promises is only in the context of the Sith, nothing more. I promise, I will tell you everything, but I ask that you trust me just a little longer, and I will show you how to use your gift honestly."

"And," Sangraal added, trying her old seduction tactic as her voiced dropped a bit in volume, going soft. "I can offer you something Whips can't." She concluded this statement by morphing into the Madwoman herself.

Victus turned and looked at the Mute. "Whips? Wow, dude, you're messed up. Or you have some mountain-sized stones."

The Mute stiffened, and not just from mild disgust at her subtle offer. He looked behind him, to the carnage he caused.

There was one thing he was certain of…

…and it was that what he had was no gift.

"Sheep Dog!" Cambul called out, finally reviving Anton, who stirred as the nearly fatal lightsaber wound closed from Marek's healing. "Thou teeter towards an abyss. A road is paved with gold and sin, and the road is wide, the true path is narrow and filled with brambles and rabid dogs, and always will be. In other words: You can still run for your life with me and Anton."

Victus added his two credits. "At this point, I wouldn't blame you if you did."

Sangraal rolled her slick red eyes, inwardly taken aback as the full measure of his devious stratagem came to bare. "Do you 'never' tire of babbling?" she asked, trying to offset the devastating nature of his verbal sabotage. She could already feel the Mute grasping at the suggestion, seeing its seeming rationality.

"Dost thou never tire of underestimating others?" Cambul asked in a merry tone, flinging his crucifix-like weapon hilt at her.

Sangraal screamed as the thing hit her torso, burning into it. Her flesh sizzled at its touch like butter in a hot pan, turning her flesh a glowing, putrid green as she collapsed, her form destabilizing and taking all manner of hideous shapes as she writhed on the ground. Cambul's weapon had used Jedi alchemy to purify it with the Light Side. The Sith behind her activated lightsabers. "Kid! RUN!" Elias shouted at the Mute, activating his own saber.

The Mute decided to do what he'd been planning on ever since Sangraal had made her offer.

He ran. Away from her, away from Kitsun, away from everyone, tossing her cane into the dirt as he sprinted to the end of the chamber, Anton and Cambul following as the remainder of the group fought.

As the Mute reached the exit, he spotted more Jedi Shadows filing into the chamber from other entrances beside the one he was running to.

He paid them no mind. He hadn't wanted to abandon Kitsun like this, but it was that, or be exploited.

He ran to the exit, Cambul and Anton, pulling rubble down from the ceiling with telekinesis to block any attempts to follow.

As the three ran for their lives, Cambul remarked at the Mute. "It seems the sheep dog has some sense."

"Tell me about it. I can't believe you screwed all of them, Master!" Anton huffed as he ran, overjoyed that he'd finally put one over on Kitsun, with Cambul's help.

"I never said I would shut down my tracking device just because we escaped the camp," Cambul answered, crushing the tiny device in his skeletal robotic fist. "I had been hoping to get a word alone with the Sheep Dog and convince him to abandon Kitsun, but these pesky battles kept getting in the way."

The Mute stopped and stared at Cambul in disbelief.

"Not to take thee as a student to my cause or anything like that," he added. "I simply wished to convince thee that Kitsun had mischief on her mind in training thee. I care little for the fact you are a Caltrop. What you choose to do after escaping here will be your business," he finished, lapsing between his strange phrasing and regular talk.

The Mute nodded, grateful, as the three continued to run.

Kitsun could only stare for a moment in shock, as she watched the Mute run. Though she was happy he was getting himself out of harm's way, she also knew that in running, he was leaving her as well.

The realization brought pain, and then anger. The anger was not at the Mute…but at Sangraal, and Cambul Marek. Sangraal had ruined everything putting him and her on the spot like that. Cambul had taken advantage of the situation, convincing yet another apprentice to leave her. It was probably what he'd had planned from the start. She was aghast at his deviousness. He had known Sangraal would interrogate him, discover the truth about him, and he had probably kept the tracking device to cause chaos and separate him from her, or, if that failed, allow Sangraal to catch up and tell the truth, allowing him to offer the third choice: Run.

No wonder he'd taken it. Cambul's offer must have sounded like the only rational thing to do.

The Jedi Shadows pouring in from all sides did not help matters as she engaged the squads of Sith along with Elias and Victus, who was swinging his one remaining arm brutally has he held his orange lightsaber, skewering a Shadow. The High Roller was spent, unable to attack. Kitsun stood over him to protect him as she beheaded a Sith with her stolen red blade. Elias defended patiently, as was his way, counter attacking only when he found an opening, he stabbed one through the chest, but was quickly brought to his knees when a lightsaber pierced him in the shin from behind. It was a Shadow's blade.

He collapsed. "Jenny!" he yelled out at Kitsun as a Sith killed his attacker and then raised his blade, prepared to finish Elias off.

Kitsun directed a pair of Recycle bodies at the Sith, crashing into him and saving Elias. But she was slammed backward by a Force Push a moment later by a Shadow. She hit the ground, chest hurting. Elias pulled pistol from a nearby corpse and fired, hitting the Sith in the head, and crawled toward High Roller in the middle of the melee to cover him.

And then it was over. Shadows and Republic troops blasted through the ceiling with turbo laser fire from a hovering shuttle, killing most of the Sith attackers and finally bringing down Victus with a few shots to his torso. He collapsed, heaving in pain, struggling to breath as soldiers and Jedi rappelled down from the hole in the chamber ceiling. The hole let forth some of the sky, which was a dark gray. It was still raining.

Some Sith dragged Sangraal off, who still screamed and writhed at the pure object embedded in her, still not in control of her form.

Kitsun was struggling to get up when a fist slammed into her. She looked in a daze above her.

It was the Blood Hound, any hint or trace of humanity was gone in his dead white eyes. His flesh was charred and blackened, and what little was left of his wolf skull mask was clinging to his face, giving him a rotted, hideous appearance. His robes were blackened, only the slacks and boots, and what was left of a sleeve clinging to his right arm remained.

"I have you now," he hissed in a metallic sounding voice as he brought his boot down on her mask.

The world went black.

Kitsun was punched awake, which told her she was still alive. The Shadow who had punched her left the room.

"Wake up, Jennifer," The Blood Hound hissed.

She looked around her, noticing her mask wasn't on, exposing her as the woman her student knew as Foxe. He chocolate brown hair was matted and dirty, and her eyes were bruised from punches she'd sustained while unconscious. Her nose was bloody. She was in a white room, small, with a low ceiling and a single light fixture above her. She was tied to a chair. There was a two way mirror in front of her, and the Blood Hound was on the other side in an equally bare white room. Behind him, and strapped to a table, was Victus, without his armor.

Her breath froze. She hadn't realized how much his rare cancer had progressed. He was thin, ribs showing. She was amazed he'd been able to stand in his armor at all, let alone fight as a beast.

His hair was thinning out, and grey. The treatments to halt his particular disease often caused those side effects. His face was gaunt, no longer the strong handsome man she'd once known. His nose was broken and his face was swollen on one side.

She almost wretched as she realized the Blood Hound had severed his other arm.

The Hound circled him. "I've been going over his profile. Very interesting, did you know he has a wife?" he asked, circling the wounded Victus. "He has to keep her a secret from the other Sith, so they don't kill him for being weak. But He's dying, and he's afraid she won't be taken care of when he's gone. That's why he agreed to be here. He wants to use some of that 'treasure' that was here to set his wife up for the rest of her life. Touching…and SELFISH! SELFISH! SELFISH! SELFISH! SELFISHHHHHHHEEEEE!" he screamed, picking up a wooden club and smacking Victus' torso repeatedly as he screamed that word over and over.

"WARRAND! STOP! YOU'LL KILL HIM!" Kitsun screamed, trying to break her bonds as she watched each blow land. "NOOOO! STOOOOPPP!"

"NEVER!" the Hound screeched, redoubling his efforts, this time on the ailing Sith's knees. "He must SUFFER for what he has done to the Order! He murdered dozens of Knights! DOZENS!" Victus had no strength left to scream, still coughing up blood.

"Damn you, Ashtee! Damn you straight to hell!" Kitsun yelled. "You're no Jedi! You're an animal!"

The Hound stopped in the middle of his beating, turning back to Kitsun through the window.

"I'm no monster. I'm simply punishing an evildoer. And besides, I solved his worry about his wife," he sneered, gripping Victus's face. "Especially considering how I had her shot this afternoon."

Victus weapt as he realized the Blood Hound was telling the truth. "She…was…innocent…" he choked out between tears and blood.

"No one who allies with a Sith is innocent. Not in my book. And soon, not in the Book of the Jedi Order, once the Shadows have assumed power."

Kitsun tried using the Force, but a strange electrical current that covered the service of the room prevented her from accessing it somehow. The Shadows tech was advanced.

"You're insane," Victus replied, knowing full well what was next. "You're…just a fiend…whatever you were…is dead…long ago…and you're too…proud…too stupid and proud…to admit it."

Victus had time to say something to Kitsun before the Hound lost his temper again. "I hope your student makes it."

"I…AM WHAT KITSUN MADE ME!" the Hound screamed, bringing the club down on Victus' head.

The skull gave with a sickening crack. Kitsun wept uncontrollably as she watched Victus' head collapse slightly. The Hound gave two more whacks to make sure.

He turned to find Kitsun's head hung down. "And when I find that little rat you've trained, I'll do the same to him. I will bring you the shattered remains of his skull and stuff it down your throat!"

"So that's why you haven't killed me yet," she sneered. "I'll give you credit, you'd make an excellent Sith Lord."

The Hound narrowed his eyes. "For that statement alone, I will eat his heart in front of you."

He turned around, "But for now, I will leave you with Victus. I want you to memorize every blow, every wound…and then despair." He left the torture den, leaving the lights in the other room on so Kitsun could get a good look at how he'd made Victus suffer.


	6. A Loyal Dog

The Mute, Cambul, and Anton had carefully made their way through the rainy streets, Anton's power cloaking them as they made their way back to the entrance route that led to Cambul's hideout.

"I still don't understand how we're going to escape the city," Anton said.

"I have a transmitter," Cambul said. "I'll simply call in a favor. I know some smugglers from my days in the order who still owe me a favor or two."

"What?!" Anton exclaimed as they found the entrance in the alley that had led them underground to start with. The Mute snorted. He'd come full circle.

"If you had a transmitter? Why didn't you say anything, Master?" Anton asked.

"Hello? Galaxy to Anton?!" Cambul replied, rapping Anton's skull gently with his knuckles. "The Sith had a Caltrop in their company, no way was I going to risk leaving him in their hands without trying to convince him to leave their service."

Anton looked at the Mute uneasily. "I—I suppose…" he said, slicking his brown hair back in the rain.

Cambul also stared. "I promise, as soon as we are off planet, I'll take you wherever you want to be dropped off. The Blood Hound will look for you, but ultimately, he'll be more satisfied with his prize."

The Mute, on the other hand, wasn't looking at either of them. He was staring into the sky, only now having second thoughts.

"What's wrong?" Anton asked. "All we have to do is sit tight, and wait for evacuation."

The Mute wasn't listening. He had regained his composure, after having been confronted with so much. He still hated the Dark Side. His experience with it in the ruined chamber had permanently poisoned his disposition to it…but…

He realized he still cared about his master. And worse, that he loved Whips.

The realization of the latter put an uncomfortable knot in his stomach. The guilt for having abandoned his master did it no favors.

Anton's face fell as he realized what the Blind Sith was contemplating. "Oh dear."

Cambul felt the Mute's sudden change in disposition also.

"Your loyalty is wasted on her. Whatever she had planned for you, it will do you no good ultimately," Cambul spoke.

The Mute turned around, Whips starting to dominate his thoughts, along with his master.

Anton peaked into his mind. "What the hell?! WHIPS! That…that's…beyond messed up," he said, backing away in horror. "You…have no idea who you're messing around with."

Cambul, however, knew that the Mute had made up his mind. Troublingly, he found his own decision being swayed. It had been a long time since he'd stuck his neck out like this.. "The heart makes stupid beasts of us all. I know this better than most. It's how I got this way," he said, gesturing to his cyborg frame. "I cannot, and will not compel you to reconsider. Just know that if you choose battle, you may see eternity early."

The Mute nodded.

Cambul let out an electronic sigh. "I suppose you'll need a weapon. Come. I have many."

"You aren't actually letting him go! It is suicide!" Anton yelled.

"I'm not letting him go. I'm coming with him, and so are you," Cambul retorted. "No man should be left to fight that kind of evil alone."

"Why can't we?! We can just run…we can just…"

"No, Anton. We must fight the Blood Hound. Some evils 'must' be stopped. Think, Anton, do you really hate Kitsun so much that you would honestly leave her in the hands of that sadist? Besides, Elias is in his hands also."

Anton looked at him for a second and then started cursing as he realized Cambul was right.

"If I get killed I'm gonna be pissed," he muttered, opening the sewer lid and crawling down the ladder.

"As will we all," said Cambul. "Come. A merry struggle waits."

The trio had soon revived all SOC Jedi who were even close to being fully recovered and had them gear up for combat, with Cambul quickly explaining the situation. The Mute had been provided with a new, green colored lightsaber by Cambul as well as some sort of energy crossbow the cyborg claimed was from a planet called Dathomir. He'd also taken a small throwing axe and a pair of knives, strapped to his boot. Cambul had selected a back up saber, as well as a trandoshan shotgun. The SOC seemed eager for revenge after what they'd suffered at the Blood Hound's forces and made no attempt to disguise their desire for it. The entire group, twenty-three in all, and climbed out of the sewer, Anton's power cloaking them as they filed toward the Military base. The Shadow patrols were easing up, meaning encounters were few, but where there were encounters, SOC Jedi would silence them swiftly and lethally.

The Mute led in front, Vengeance also dominating his thoughts. He felt the Blood Hound's presence, and was loath to allow him to draw breath any further. As he approached the base, he was starting to pick up familiar traces of Whips presence as well. But it was…altered somehow.

The Base's entrance was located on a small road reserved for military vehicles. The entire place was surrounded by a high wall, and The Mute could make out a transmission tower, barracks, ammo dump, and hanger with his Force Sight. The place was gigantic, with wide open spaces. He also spotted an on sight med-center that reeked of The Dark Side. That was where his master was being kept. They would need to move quickly, or risk being overwhelmed.

Four guards were patrolling the front entrance. The wall was lined with thermal sensors and turrets. There was only one way through. The Mute gestured to Anton.

Anton walked forward. He decloaked, much to the surprise of the armored troops.

"Put your weapons down," he commanded, eyes glowing.

The troops lowered their weapons.

"Open the gate."

One troop hit a switch in the security booth and the door slid open.

"Now, wait quietly and pretend nothing happened," Anton commanded.

The troops did so, and everyone went forward, activating stealth generators or cloaking themselves in the Force as necessary.

The Mute and Cambul headed into the Transmission Tower. It was a simple skeletal structure with a needle like top and generator, wired to pick up all military transmissions. Cambul pulled out some explosives he'd brought along, attaching them to the legs of the tower. They moved on and then quietly made their way to the Barracks section, the Mute taking out some explosives and planting them on the large, oval like structures side. The explosives were thorium, and thorium packed a massive punch.

It was still raining, and thunder rang out occasionally. But the Mute could here an approaching shuttle. He ducked behind some sort of large tool shed with Cambul as they spotted an MP trooper in a black jumpsuit and white helmet, walking with a Kath Hound.

The pair leapt out, Cambul strangling the guard to death with a Force choke, the Mute simply pushing the hound into a light post, knocking it out.

They quickly moved to hide the bodies inside the shed. Security was pretty lax, considering that the Blood Hound had most of the military probably looking for him in the city.

However, something kept bugging him…just HOW had the Blood Hound managed to get the military on his side?

Cambul sensed his question and decided to provide an answer as he set the dead guard down on the shed floor and covered him in a tarp, along with the unconscious animal.

"Certain forces in the Republic government have been…unhappy with the way the Jedi have conducted the approach to Exar Kun's minions. They want a stronger, more ruthless approach. I theorize that perhaps a few rogue elements approached the shadows to see how they prosecute a war against Sith…and how they measure up to ordinary Jedi. The Blood Hound is eager for validation, and probably also used it as a cover to just attack your master," Cambul explained, forgoing his strange speech pattern to explain it clearly, suggesting to the mute that his 'normal' manner was simple obfuscation.

The Mute grimaced.

"I would not stress over it. People like the Blood Hound always get their comeuppance," Cambul reassured him. "Come, let us send him to the lake of fire, where there is a weeping and gnashing of teeth."

The Mute nodded and the two left the shed, slowly making their way to the large, rust brown med-center. For a hospital, it looked strangely abandoned, likely because of whatever work the Jedi were doing. They then waited for the others to finish their own tasks before acting.

Kitsun, in the meantime, had thoroughly resolved not to die for the Blood Hounds vengeance.

She had slowly begun examining her bonds. When she was a child, her father had taught her how to free herself if she was ever tied up. She was biding her time however, waiting until the Shadows came to fetch her.

Sure enough, Two Shadows, wearing black and white robes and covering their faces with Echani Demon Masks, all smiling mouths and fanged teeth, entered.

"The Blood Hound wishes you to watch him beat your other companion to death," one of them explained, left hand gliding to his lightsaber in case of trouble.

"Which one?' she asked in a bored manner.

"That vain one called the High Roller," the other answered.

"I see. Well then, let's get on with it," she replied casually.

The Shadows both snorted and bent down to untie her.

Kitsun quickly bashed the back of her head against both of their faces, rising from the chair and quickly delivering a knife punch to the throat of the other before he could get out his lightsaber. She grabbed the one she'd stunned with the blow to the face, bent him down, got her arm around his head and snapped his neck. Just as the remaining Shadow, unclipped his lightsaber, she tackled him, twisting the weapon out of his grip, and activated it into his chest.

He collapsed without another sound.

Kitsun spat on both of them and exited the room, lightsaber in hand. Her mind set on only one thing: Murdering the living daylights out of Warrand Ashtee, and doing it correctly this time. Though he thrived on pain, she was certain she could get 'creative' enough to reach a point even he couldn't tolerate.

She was seeing red, all she could think about was making him suffer, and making sure he never did this sort of thing again.

The Sith Lady walked calmly down what appeared to be a med-center hall way, curiously cleared of all personnel. The halls, normally a sterile white, looked dirty and unkempt. The place echoed suffering.

As Lady Kitsun walked she felt a familiar presence approaching with lethal intent.

The Blood Hounds voice sounded over the PA system.

"So, you escaped. I admit I was hoping you would. Because I am nowhere even NEAR done tormenting you, I have a special surprise for you. I have improved your dog, Whips."

A figure stepped out of a turbo-lift down the hall to Kitsun's right.

Whips turned, and Kitsun grimaced.

The Blood Hound had taken away the synth skin mask that covered her face, and she was not the better for it. It exposed the ruined façade, the burnt gray flesh, the lip-less face, the constantly exposed teeth. The bare, burnt scalp exposed occasional signs of rogue hairs. She was no longer in her black body suit, having been replaced by a brown body glove with boots that went up to her shin.

Kitsun had found her like this, when she'd rescued the woman from the Jedi Shadows clutches after their mental techniques had turned her into a Sociopath in order to discredit her viewpoint that Force Users should start worrying about their own kind and with draw from politics. She believed that they should stop from trying to influence the Galaxy with their power and forge a true civilization that answered to neither side of the Force. Kitsun recalled with sorrow the days when this woman, who back then had been known as The Wolf, had used to donate to charity.

No more.

The cold blue eyes fixed on her with psychotic intensity. Kitsun tried to peer into her mind and found that once again, The Blood Hound had desecrated it, implanting orders she had no choice but to obey.

And those orders were to kill her, or be killed.

"Damn you, Warrand, I will not kill her!" Kitsun shouted.

"You don't have a choice. I know there is some reason you went crazy when you thought your apprentice was dead, and I got to thinking, how far would you go to find him again? If so, you're going to have to kill the one who led you on your path of Sith treachery to begin with. It's kill or be killed. Either way, I get a good laugh. If she kills you, you die in an act of dramatic irony. If you kill her, then you crush the very person who led you astray, a friend you had no business having."

"I will make you suffer, Ashtee," Kitsun vowed. "You will wish you had never found me when I am through."

She found herself unable to stop taunting him. She hated him so badly at this point she didn't care if she set him off any further. "When I pushed the lightsaber into your chest, my only thought was that you were too stupid to survive. I relished ever second of your agony. I'm pleased you continue to suffer."

There was silence on the other end of the PA system for a few seconds before the Blood Hound erupted into a fit of unholy shrieking and curses. Kitsun smiled as she heard him smash something on the other end.

"KILL HER!" he roared at Whips through the system.

Whips red light-whip flicked on with a hiss. Kitsun activated her newly confiscated one, a black blade with a blue aura as they both charged forward.

The Mute and Cambul had been in com-link contact with the rest of the SOC remnants when Anton finally called his master.

"Ready to go, Cambul. Give the order, and I'll turn the entire military into a mass of drones, and set this entire place on fire," he said.

"Are you sufficiently hidden?"

"By the time I'm done, that's not going to be an issue."

"Ah, good," Cambul replied. "On my command, baptize these heathens. Baptize the ever loving crap out of them."

"Say the word."

"Very well then," Cambul spoke into the link. "On my word…HEAL, SINNERS!"

The Explosives went off all over the base. The Barracks were demolished, with people running out on fire, screaming. The Mess Hall erupted in flames, the tower toppled over and the administrative building exploded horrifically. Only the hanger and the med center were untouched as the SOC remnants rushed forward, quickly putting down survivors and Jedi Shadows that stumbled out in a daze.

More shadows burst from the doors of the Med-Center-entrance, where Cambul and the Mute were. Cambul electrified them with his green lightning, killing them instantly as he and his blind companion charged forward.

The remaining soldiers, however, were screaming and clawing at themselves, eyes glowing orange as Anton manipulated them against other Shadows who came rushing out of the administration building's remains, overwhelming them with sheer numbers.

Kitsun dodged a fatal crack from Whips weapon that had been aimed at her face. She made a stab at Whips' shins, trying to end the fight early, but Whips back-flipped out of the strike, Force pushing Kitsun away at the same time. Whips landed, unable to smile without the micro circuitry in her mask.

Kitsun got up. "Whips…fight it," she said. "You can break the programming, you've done it before!"

Whips let out bolts of lightning from her hand and Kitsun absorbed it into her palm.

"Fight him! You know you hate him as much as I do for what he's done, what he's planning to do!"

Whips showed no mercy, beginning a seemingly endless series of twirls and cracks that Kitsun was forced to dodge or parry with the Force. Whips had always been the more unpredictable opponent, slashing, cracking her weapon randomly, firing lightning when Kitsun's defense was weakest, and driving her former caretaker back with ruthless efficiency. Kitsun was exhausted by the time she was done, her arms like lead weights from the parrying.

"I'm afraid we did a much better job on her programming this time, Jennifer," the Blood Hound laughed.

"There is nothing left of the sinful, selfish woman she once was. She is incapable of the sins of friendship, or love, or loyalty to anything except orders, like she was meant to be. Nothing can break our hold now."

Kitsun perked at this statement.

"Warrand, you're a fool," she snarled, before turning to Whips, who was cracking her weapon against the floor as she approached. "Whips… The Mute is coming…"

Whips stopped for a second, her weapon going wild and slashing the ceiling before falling limply to the floor.

Kitsun had never been able to fathom Whips affinity for her student. They way she hovered over him, attacked him, couldn't stop staring at him when he was in the room…and only now, did she finally get it, and the realization let her soul soar with hope.

Whips was still capable of love. The horrific brain washing The Shadows had put her through and even Anton's later mental assault hadn't been able to crush that emotion in her. And she was, in a very literal sense, madly in love with her student. Sure, it was filtered through the severe mental damage, but it was love, no doubt.

An explosion knocked them both to the floor. She heard the Blood Hound cursing again over the system.

"Whips, that's him!" she shouted. "He's come to assist us!"

Whips jerked, screaming as she started fighting the programming, smashing her fists into nearby walls uncontrollably, discharging lightning into the ceiling, shrieking as her will gathered strength. Kitsun smiled again as she felt the Blood Hounds sense of shock, as Whips previous barely controlled madness reasserted itself almost instantly, shattering the careful hours of programming his telepaths had invested in her.

"No, no NO!" The Blood Hound roared as Whips let out a shriek of laughter, playfully slashing the wall as she went to the contraband area deeper into the hostile complex in order to look like her old self again, skipping happily along the way at the thought of another fight with the Mute…and almost certainly contemplating a number of hideous tortures to inflict on her captors. Kitsun followed, finally getting the feeling that she was getting the advantage again.

The Mute ventured into the reception and check-in area with Cambul, and was greeted by a Jedi Shadow, clad in the same black and white robes and demon masks of his other brethren, who activated his lightsaber instantly at the sight of the blind warrior.

The Mute was faster, and before the Shadow could bring up a guard, He fired the energy crossbow.

The pink bolt of energy slammed into the shadow, flinging him against the wall, and impaling him.

"I knew there was a reason I kept that old thing," Cambul remarked. "It is very good for judging the wicked."

The Mute snickered a bit at his remark. "I wasn't joking," Cambul said in a deadpan tone.

The Mute raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Ha! Had you going!" Cambul chuckled. "Still, that 'is' a neat weapon."

The Mute shook his head, snickering some more, when he suddenly heard the Blood Hound's voice again.

"So, the coward had a change of heart. You should have run, boy. Perhaps I would have forgotten about you in time. Unlikely, but it's always possible."

The Mute grimaced and went forward, heading into the patient waiting area. It was filled with sofas and repulsor lift chairs for the infirm. Cheap paintings hung limply on the walls.

"Always in the wrong place, always at the wrong time…yet you are still wicked nonetheless, for daring to oppose the Jedi. I will break your neck in front of her. You are the monster, not I, and I will make sure you feel every second of your punishment before I finally destroy you, just like I destroyed the Wolf."

The Mute perked up, a sudden, intense rage in his chest. It was him. He was the reason he'd never seen the Wolf again.

If he could still talk, he would have demanded to know what he'd done to her, but since he could not, his decision would be what it always was these days: make his actions speak louder than any words.

And his actions were going to be those of someone on the verge of feral when he caught up the Hound.

Whips was soon looking like her old self, having recovered her outfit and mask from the contraband room, where all of their weapons had been confiscated on capture. Her fake lekku that disguised her as a Twi-lek swung idly. Kitsun had recovered her own mask, and had troublingly noted that the High Roller's cane was here also, stained with blood. She took it, as well as Darth Victus' lightsaber. It didn't deserve to be in the Blood Hounds possession.

In the meantime, she had to figure out what he was going to say to the Mute. While she admired the hell out of him for returning, it begged the question of what she was to do now that he was back. How would they proceed from here, should they survive?

Kitsun cut the worry off from her mind. Survival was paramount. Against the combined might of her, the Mute, and Whips, the Blood Hound stood no chance at survival.

The pair made their way out and then took the stair case down to the reception area where they sensed the Mute's presence. Whips skipped along playfully, unsure what she would do when she caught up to the Mute again. Would she kiss him, or crack him in the jaw?

She gave an evil grin. Why not both?

Upon sighting the Mute, Kitsun rushed over to him. She did not hug him however. That would be…unprofessional.

"I am glad you returned, Student," she addressed him formally, doing all she could not to throw her arms around him for his loyalty.

"The Blood Hound must be punished for his sins," Cambul spoke out.

Kitsun's lightsaber activated. "It seems your attempt to draw my student away from me failed."

"Now now, Dark Shepherdess, Thou know well my reputation for stratagem. We were both taught by the same people. Thou should have seen it coming. More than most would have."

Kitsun thought about it a moment before shutting off her blade. "Your point is fair, I suppose."

"It always is. Now, about the Blood Hound—"

Everyone froze as they felt a familiar dark presence enter the facility.

"Err…Master?" Anton spoke over Cambul's com-link. "Heh…uh, I have bad news for you. Sith Philosophers—"

"—have entered the facility," cooed a familiar, seductive voice.

Everyone turned to the source of Darth Sangraal's voice.

Sangraal looked worse for the wear. His weapon was still clearly embedded in a mesh of sickly green, glowing innards in her torso. Her veins had turned a poisonous glowing green as well, her flesh infected by the Light Side of the Force. Most of her skin was a charred grey, and seemed to be constantly smoking as she staggered forward, the flesh across her entire body frequently rippling like water waves.

Cambul clapped his hands ecstatically. "Ah, I see the Abomination has had a most merry time trying out my weapon."

"Every time I touch it, it burns. You will get it out of me," she ordered.

"All in good time, Abomination," Cambul replied, turning to the others. "Get thee behind me. Seek the Sinner Warrand and end him. I have business with this creature."

The others nodded and fled.

Sangraal's black lightsaber blade activated.

"You have been a very devious little cyborg, haven't you?" she asked, getting closer.

"Only as much as I needed to be devious, creature. Thou must admit I have done extremely well, playing both sides against the other. It was always one of my talents. My mind is a greater weapon than anything I have fashioned with my hands," Cambul spoke, activating his spare lightsaber, a blue blade with a one handed hilt that seemed to be made of polished cherry wood.

"Ooo, nice blade," she remarked. "You are truly a master craftsman."

"I thank thee."

"I am curious about something," she spoke, bringing her blade to guard, the flesh across her face distorting and twisting occasionally. "What ARE you going to do with that sample you took from me?"

"I have my purposes, as you have yours,"

"If you wanted a sample, you could have just asked, Marek," she cooed, tapping her blade against his experimentally as he stepped back. "A tiny sample injected into your bloodstream could probably re-grow most of your body."

"True, but such a benefit would leave me your thrall. There is always a catch with you."

"Not always," Sangraal smirked. "I've always had a thing for intelligent men. I bet if I restored your body, we could almost certainly have an interesting…encounter."

"I beyond such mortal inclinations," Cambul replied, giving a makashi salute with his blade. "Attack."

Sangraal's blade came fast and hard, but Cambul elegantly swiped the attacks aside, slashing in retaliation.

"Thou has sinned most grievously against both Force and Man," he remarked as his blade took her right pinky off. The separated pinky squirmed and squirmed but seemed unable to reattach itself to her. It was still squirming as Sangraal snatched it back up with the Force, reattaching it manually.

"In the beginning that may have been true. But I have made a change. I view the Sith teachings more liberally than most. Whereas you seemed to have gone a route of conservatism even the most stringent Jedi would not advocate. Tell me," she asked, slamming her blade against his repeatedly. "Is it true that you worship the Force as a God?"

"Indeed it is," he replied, as he deflected her strikes, making a stab at her occasionally.

"Why?" she asked as she made a move to be head him, which he dodged easily, letting loose a burst of emerald fire from his hands, which she blocked with her own blade.

"It grants its worshippers power in exchange for their devotion, it warns them of danger, punishes the wicked, and rewards the righteous with eternal life. If that is not basis for worship, nothing is," he replied casually, making a series of elegant strikes which forced the rotting Sith Lady to dodge. The weapon that was currently lodged in her prevented her from calling on the highest levels of her powers, such as shape shifting, allowing Cambul, who would normally have stood no chance of victory, at least the ability to hold her off.

"Your God does not seem to have rewarded you for your devotion. You are more machine now than man," she replied, making a series of vicious swipes to his legs, forcing him to backpedal and block the strikes at the same time.

"Whereas thou are twisted and evil," Cambul countered, tossing a sofa at her as they battled in the reception area.

"I simply embraced my power at its fullest, Cambul. I never wanted a war with the Jedi Order. They made me an enemy. I could have taught them all to become as I am now," she replied, tossing the sofa aside with her mind.

"What should it profit a man if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?" Cambul retorted. "Thy power would have corrupted the order, demon. A whole slew of nightmares we never could have solved would have been unleashed had thee been listened to."

"Is that why you sought to take the Caltrop from me?" she asked, angling her blade for a stab as she approached him. Cambul guarded, backing away.

"Yes he was a Caltrop, but he was also a good man, and the thought of leaving a sheep dog such as him in thy hands sickened me," Cambul replied carefully. Prophecy hinged on her not knowing his full reasons.

"Oh, he would have fun. The Dark Side even has cookies. How can you beat THAT?" she joked. "Who doesn't like cookies?"

"When there is pie available with the Light Side? Everybody," Cambul joked back, dodging her stab, and making one of his own at her shoulder. She leapt back, unable to even call on lightning at this point.

"How do you know we'd be bad for him?" she asked in a reasonable tone.

"The Man decided to rescue his master even after you told him the truth. He has honor. The Sith ideology always subverts honor in the end, no matter how liberal the interpretation."

"You cannot stop me, Cambul. Note how your weapon has only weakened me, not killed me."

"Even you cannot survive a weapon that destroys all of you at once," he replied, again guarding with his blade. "I wonder…what would happen if we dunked thee in a river of fire? Or used a Nuke?"

"I can always be resurrected with the right rituals. I am unworried. And I can sense you tiring, Cambul."

She was right. His cybernetics had allowed him only a brief respite Much of his power had been lost in the cybernetic conversion, and the previous battles of the day had drained him greatly. It was time to use his oldest weapon, opportunism.

"Thou wishes the weapon removed from thee?" he inquired, still guarding. "I will make thee a deal, and you will take it."

"Always thinking two steps ahead, I see."

"Several steps," he replied. "I know that thou are reputed to keep thy word once it is given. And that thee hates breaking it. So here is my first condition. Thou will allow me and the others to leave."

Sangraal rolled her eyes. "Of COURSE that would be your first condition. Very well, I can always reacquire any of you later on. Your other condition?"

"Thou will not attempt to reacquire the sample we took from thee. And that means not attempting to actively track me or Anton down."

Sangraal hesitated. He was right about one thing. In order to distinguish themselves from the barbaric mainstream Sith, Philosophers kept their word. Always.

"I know that thee does not have anyone skilled in Jedi Alchemy as I am. Sith Alchemy maybe, but that might cause more problems than it would solve," he replied. "If thou wishes thy power to remain dormant for the next several weeks, while the master of thy Order struggles to come up with a solution, than by all means, wait. And leave thyself open to Jedi attacks that might actually be successful for a change."

Sangraal looked at him.

"Done," she said finally.

Cambul nodded. His hand reached out and his light foil tore itself from her body into his hand.

Sangraal's body shuddered, twisting and repairing itself until it had assumed its previous unblemished appearance.

"That feels MUCH better," she remarked, as Cambul strode past her, intent on directing the remaining SOC forces.

"And Cambul?" she called out.

The Cyborg turned.

"If you ever decide that your God hasn't been treating you right," she smirked. "The Sith Philosophers would be overjoyed to have someone of your brilliance among them. You played all of us like a kazoo, and if there is anything we can appreciate, it's a strategist."

"Thy evangelism is wasted on me," he replied dryly before exiting the facility.

Sangraal sighed. Cambul had cornered her into promising she would let them all go. There wasn't much to do.

She huffed and sat down on a nearby chair, crossing her long legs as she picked up a holozine, chuckling a bit as she watched a cartoon Jedi bash a cartoon Exar Kun's head with a hammer shaped lightsaber.

"Priceless," she remarked, reading on.


End file.
